Shoot to Kill

"Hello Kurt." The voice, nasally and grating, came from the other side of Kurt's cell phone as he tried to push past an older woman on the stairs heading up from the subway. He wasn't trying to be rude but the flight had been awful and Finn had kept texting him and making him feel bad about leaving and he really just wanted to go to sleep. And the last thing he needed right now was Stanley.

"What do you want?" The man on the other line sighed heavily, drawn out and beyond over dramatic.

"I want a lot of things Kurt darling, most of which I'd get killed for even thinking." Kurt had to give it to him, Stanley was definitely persistent. However persistence wasn't something he wanted right now, much like this phone call.

"Just don't think it too often Stan. Now why are you calling me?" Kurt took a moment to gather his surroundings once he got up to the main street.

"Your cover identity darling, as always. Your name is Henry Banks, you're a struggling musician, and you are in New York to find yourself. Or something to that effect. You can pull that off, can't you dollface?" The next few sentences were drowned out by a car driving past, blasting music and blaring on the horn as someone cut across the road. It was late (or early, technically) and Kurt was starting to feel the New York grime already coating his skin.

"Are you even listening to me Kurt Hummel?" The authoritative tone that Stanley took said that this was not the pushover Stanley, this was the bossman's younger brother Stanley, which meant that Kurt had to pay the man some respect.

At least it was easy to respect someone you weren't face to face with. He repeated the facts that he had caught back, filing the information somewhere behind the last Vogue cover in the back of his mind because he really had no intention on staying the full week. His plan was to get in, get it done with, and get home. Hopefully before he got a call from Burt or Finn or worse, Carole, asking what the design school had done with him.

"I'll text you the directions to Henry's apartment. Play nicely up there Kurt, not everyone is as nice as we are down here." And then came the dial tone. Kurt shook his head, telling himself that yelling at the dial tone would just be immature, before shoving the phone into his pocket.

Not a minute later his pocket vibrated and he pulled out his phone, reading the directions to the apartment before deleting the text. He deleted everything, memorized numbers and names and facts very quickly, because he knew what would happen if he got caught. Carlson wasn't about to put his job, freedom, life on the line for one of his employees, not even one as good as Kurt. And Kurt was good.

The apartment was shabby to say the least, but clean. Of course Kurt didn't want to know where Mister Banks was, deciding instead to go about and, as he called it, foolproofed the apartment. It was a habit he got into after his first target, removing any pictures of the original tenant of the apartment he was given so that if he had to bring someone there, and he had before, he wouldn't get caught in an awkward situation.

A glance at the clock told Kurt it was useless to try to get any work done tonight, so instead he curled up on the bed with a quiet thought that he hoped the sheets were clean and looked at his luggage in the corner. Inside were clothes and his equipment, along with the folder with Blaine Anderson's information. He wanted to look through it one more time, maybe look through the pictures, but he had done that over the entire flight to New York. He knew the facts and every bit of information that the packet held.

He thought he knew every curve and imperfection on Anderson's face (and chest and arms), knew the way that his clothes fit him. He knew these things and could imagine them very clearly when he closed his eyes.

The line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, the juncture between the column of his throat and his shoulder, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the jut of his hipbones-

Kurt's eyes snapped open and down to his own hipbones where his hand was slowly trying to sneak into the waistband of his jeans. He pulled his hand back and sat up, glaring at the offending hand and trying to come up with a reason for it.

"Okay, Anderson is hot. And okay, I haven't gotten laid in longer than is probably healthy for someone my age. But I am a goddamn professional. I am a professional and I will not let my wants or desires or fucked up sexdrive or those damn hipbones distract me."

Kurt was fucked if he let his mind get away from him. He was fucked if he lost sight of his ultimate goal with this. He was in New York to kill Blaine Anderson, not fuck him. Not that he hadn't used sex to get to a target before. And not that he only had sex with his targets. Although he had only really slept with two of them and just fooled around with the others.

People were really unobservant after orgasms.

But Kurt refused to get distracted. He wasn't even sure of Anderson's sexual orientation and even if he was gay, it didn't matter. If he had to use sex appeal to get the job done, he would. If he had to use the wounded puppy routine, he would. If he had to use force, he would. It didn't matter how, Kurt would get this job done.

And even though he was berating himself the entire time, Kurt snuck across the room and unzipped his bag and pulling out the folder, flicking through to the information until one word caught his eye. It was as if the word was written in a different color, burning on the paper and drawing all of his attention to the three letters.

Gay.

Oh, Kurt was so fucked.

A/N: I have gotten SUCH a good response for this story already. I don't have anything planned out. You will learn that I rarely plan things out too far ahead. It's a flaw, but it works for me. But yes, you are all blowing up my email and I kind of love every single one of you.

And please, introduce yourselves to me! I want to know my readers. Either on here, or in an email, or tumblr. I don't care. I just want to know who I'm writing for I guess. Drop me a line in a review or a private message or tumblr or an email (.com or ).

I hope you're enjoying the story.