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Reason has nothing to do with fic. Also, since it's post-Valentine's Day, I return to mocking you as usual.

And...speaking of chocolate, there's a chocolate-making place in Sengkang Mall, relatively near my house. Should I camp out there and learn how to make chocolate, seeing as it attracts you so?

13. I would have given myself for all those girls, beautiful. These girls, moaning and sobbing about how no one would /try/ to get close to them, no one would even bother about them, they're fat, they're ugly, everyone thinks so...I didn't. I thought they were beautiful. I thought they were pretty. I thought they were selling themselves short. And I was always there. They never gave me the chance. But you have. For that, if we never get anywhere, properly, together, I'll give you everything you deserve to have. And that is - everything. But we'll both be happy, in the end, I know it; and I'd rather have you as a friend in my life than not at all.

How he ends up in Mike Chang's bed is difficult for him to explain.

Blaine blames it on the alcohol. The alcohol, and the vague, probably cannibalistic urges that drive him to want to know what Mike Chang tastes like. He looks delicious, the toned skin and the tapered line and arch of his shoulders, golden-brown skin when he exposes it. The scent of rich, bitter coffee rises from along the line of his clavicle, well-tempered with chocolate, dark and sweet.

One minute he is kissing Rachel (fake cherries and peaches); he thinks he remembers, through that numbness of alcohol (gold and black and brown, the color of the room (and red, but he disregards that)), that Rachel's lips are so much softer, rounder, fuller, than any boy's he has ever kissed, save Kurt.

Kurt...

He is...he hopes he hasn't hurt Kurt too much. The truth is that as much as Blaine cares for him, in a lot of ways Kurt is his good, his greatest friend, and he would much rather have Kurt as a friend than as a lover. Kurt is too awkward and Blaine isn't the best of teachers in terms of the dance that leads to the little death. Le Danse Macabre? The one that most people play in private rooms, their little dance around death, light and approaching as a feather. Awkward fumbling only goes so far; Blaine would much rather have a co-ordinated dancer in his bed, and that is what Mike Chang is.

Blaine has systematically fallen in love with every good-looking guy that has come along. He can't think of a single guy within two years of his age that he has not found attractive, attractive enough to want to snog. He supposes that if he includes Rachel, there's also a few girls. Most of the New Directions girls are quite attractive. The Asian girl - what's her name, Tina? Yes, she's also very attractive. Perhaps because she looks like Mike.

Mike rolls over in bed and a sleekly muscled arm slides over Blaine's bare side.

"You're awake," Mike says, satisfaction and contentment humming through every word. "Good."

"Good," Blaine says. He smirks. "Care for Round Two?"

He tastes like coffee and chocolate. And warmth, warmth like freshly-baked bread, hot and steaming out of the oven.

Steamy. Yes. Blaine gasps as Mike decides to lead him into the little death's dance once more. Just one hand, and Blaine is glad to give up the lead, the tempo, yielding it to his partner.

It is the morning and they are in New York. The alcohol is still free-flowing, even despite the sheer hi-jinks that went on last night. Even as the Warblers mix with the all-girls' school's show choir, and everyone wakes up in different beds than they went to sleep in, usually with a partner (or sometimes two, or in Jet's case, three, all blondes and confused about their sexuality, while Jet lies back and grins madly) (Blaine wants to know what he'll tell his girlfriend)

It is the morning and their nationals competition is very, very soon. He's young yet, so he doesn't get hangovers, which is good because he can concentrate on being thoroughly mortified. From what he can remember, Mike did all the work. Clearly, he'll have to seduce Mike tonight and force Mike to let him top. Or something. Not that he was going to seduce a straight guy again. Since Mike was holding on to that Asian girl's hand.

Yet...Mike didn't seem to be complaining.

"Blaine?" Kurt said, coming up behind him and resting a hand on the small of his back. Blaine tensed, then forced himself to relax.

"Yes, Kurt?"

"I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive, but...where did you sleep last night?"

"On the balcony," Blaine lied smoothly, and fake-shivered. "It was cold. I was drunk, and it was a horrible, horrible idea."

Kurt laughed. "You should've found me. I would've given you a blanket."

No, Kurt, Blaine tells him silently. If I'd found you, you would have tried to snuggle up to me and blame the alcohol later. And I...I'm not interested in you, not that way, not anymore. We can still go on coffee dates though, and eat Red Vines, and drink the coffee orders that we know about each other, but I don't think the two of us will work out.

Of course, he says none of this.

"What's for breakfast?" Blaine asks. "I'm so hungry, I could eat you right up."

Kurt laughs and backs away. "I'm not fat at all, I wouldn't be very juicy."

"With enough salt and pepper, you would be," Blaine says, and advances, baring his teeth and grinning. "I bet you would be delicious. Some breast, a bit of haunch..."

He knows, on the other hand, that Mike is delicious. He tasted Mike enough last night; on his skin and at his neck where the pulse was, the thready pulse fluttering against his tongue, lips, and teeth. He tasted Mike's unique taste, and his ... other tastes, the inside of his mouth, the scent of his cologne wreathing around him.

"Why, Blaine, are you staring at my ass?" Kurt bats his eyelashes and laughs, and walks away, shakin' dat ass.

"Sounds legit," Blaine says. Blaine makes no effort to walk closer to Kurt - Kurt is observant enough (or jealous enough, or stalkery enough) that he could smell an unfamiliar scent on Blaine, and that would just raise a series of questions that Blaine doesn't want to get into right now.

Plus it's a buffet next door, and Blaine is ravenous. He takes a deep breath as he steps into the room. He orients straight for the hotdogs. Freshly-baked bread, the steaming kind, and...that smells like... (A blonde taps him on the shoulder. He turns to talk to her, realising with a short man's delight that she's actually shorter than him, rare as that is)...it smells like excellent sausages.

The next morning, the Warblers perform their number. Running his hands down his body for the song, Blaine eyes Mike the whole time, who gives him a thumbs up from the audience and a white-toothed smile.

Is it wrong for him to want to have fun, rather than to get into a serious relationship? He's had enough of romance - he wants it to be convenient, casual, and most of all, have supermegafoxyawesome se-nights. Nights. He meant nights.

Kurt's voice resounds against his, and Blaine tastes the bitter taste of guilt. It is nothing like coffee.

But Blaine's young, and he wants to be wild.

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