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Ep. 2 – Those are your f***ing hips, use them!

Every inch of Blaine's body hurt. His arms felt like they weighted a tonne, but of course the blasted alarm just had to go off at that moment, screaming at him to get up and get ready for the day, yet another torture session with the Devil himself.

Harry Potter, the otherwise innocent looking and not to mention gorgeous choreographer, was pure evil and had a vicious mouth on him. Blaine groaned pitifully at the memory of the scathing jibes and curses that was thrown at them for being such incompetent losers after blotching up the actually ridiculously hard choreography for the tenth time in a row.

Blaine tried to not take it personally, because the words themselves weren't actually degrading them in any way; Harry didn't call them cruel names or intended to humiliate them, but still the words caught him unaware and tore into him deeper than Blaine would have wanted to admit.

'Maybe I'll get used to it,' he mused, attempting to put his arm over his eyes, ignoring the blaring Katy Perry song that was trying to rouse any reaction from him, but he only managed a pathetic twitch and a painful yelp, as his muscles burned from exhaustion and over-usage. "Shit."

He had no idea how he was going to do the routines with paralyzed limbs. But more importantly, how would he get out from his bed? Especially because his bladder was killing him, causing him to curse his need to drink an entire jug of water during the night. Why couldn't he sleep through the night like any normal person would? But at the thought of water his bladder screamed at him again and with a low, pitiful moan he managed to sit up on his second try.

Mere half an hour later, after a trip to the bathroom and a long relaxing shower, Blaine was somewhat more awake and even half dressed in baggy blue sweatpants with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. The fatigue-fever was nowhere around the bearable level, unfortunately he didn't have the luxury to stay at home and nurse his invisible wounds, because practice started in an hour.

Studio 6 was buzzing with life as he walked through the halls, avoiding collisions with the industrial sized dress racks and hyperactive backstage workers and assistants. The door of P. Hall 11 was half open when he got there and some of the other Warblers were already stretching or just chatting, waiting for Harry and the others.

"Hi ya, Blaine!" Wes, the Asian boy with stalker tendencies greeted him with a rakish grin, waving him over to his small group of friends, namely David, Thad and Bailey who were also smiling at him. "So are you about to die from overly straining muscles too?"

"I think I actually died last night and I'm in hell." Blaine answered pumping fists with them before turning back to Wes. The others snickered.

"Yes and the Devil decided to make us his personal bitches," Bailey groaned, then glared at Thad who slapped him on the back in sympathy.

"I feel like my legs are falling off and actually I'm used to working out three times a week," David muttered, rubbing his neck with a grimace. "And I think my neck is actually cramped for good."

"Which only proves that you lot are nothing more than a bunch of ridiculous clowns." Blaine did not scream when that hot breath wafted over the back of his neck.

"Holy shit! Don't sneak up on people, man! You'll give us a heart attack or something!" Wes exclaimed, his almond shaped eyes comically wide.

"Constant vigilance!" Blaine and the others just stared at the man who was still standing mere inches from him. "Inner joke, sorry," Harry added with a sheepish grin, his vivid eyes darkening for a moment, before his expression turned downright sinister and Blaine had to squelch down the urge to step back and hide behind Bailey who had the broadest shoulder of their group.

"Sorry for the question, but you're kinda insane, aren't you?" David asked, blinking owlishly earning horrified glances from his friends. Blaine was rendered speechless and was sure, that the choreographer would kill them any minute now...

But then Harry started to speak and his tone was light and teasing. "What did you think? That a sane person would put up with your lack of talent and coordination skill? What you really thought that?" he snorted misunderstanding the dumbfounded silence that swept through the whole room.

Did the man have multiple personality disorder or was he simply bipolar? Blaine wondered, trying to regain his composure that decided to take a vacation when he saw that sweet smile. Not that he would ever say it aloud that he found Harry's smile sweet, because he wasn't suicidal, even if his ex-classmates and bullies thought otherwise.

And as if he wanted to prove Blaine's point, the amused smile disappeared from Harry's face giving its place to irritation. "Whatever," the choreographer muttered with a frown, his whole attitude taking a one-eighty turn. "Why the hell aren't you in formation?"

Blaine cringed, but obeyed the harsh command and tried to prepare himself. Without success. The man was simply lethal, bitching and cursing, picking on them mercilessly no matter how hard they tried. "What are you a herd of brainless droids? Do you want me to pull that fucking pole out of your asses or will you do it for yourselves and start use your fucking hips?"

That hurt. Blaine felt as his face heated up in pure mortification, and although he couldn't see his colleagues, he guessed they were equally embarrassed. For goodness' sake, he didn't even know how to dance! What did Potter expected? However, before he could explode and snap back at the cruel bastard, long fingers curled around his hipbones, squeezing them.

"These are your fucking hips, use them," the man growled into his ear and a very unintentional shiver run down Blaine's spine.

In the mirror he could see that Harry's lips were mere inches from his earlobe, green eyes flashing with annoyance and instead of letting him go, those fingers tightened their hold, ripping a barely audible gasp from Blaine, before they started to guide his hips in a languid motion, rolling and swaying in ways he had never thought were possible.

"Like this, good boy." And with that he was left alone to stare at his very red face in the mirror, trying to figure out what had just happened.