"Did you manage to trace where the call came from?" ask Blaine once Puckerman had exited the locker room without realizing he was not alone.

"Fuck," frustratedly curses Carl. "We almost got it but half way through the process, the server broke."

"Seriously? I think your hunch is right, Carl. I think somebody really is helping him cover his tracks," says Blaine.

"If it is indeed true, it has to be someone who is very computer savvy because they sure know their shit," says Carl. You could tell by his heavy breathing that Carl was growing even more frustrated.

"Have you found out Lucius cell mates? Maybe he met his accomplice in there," ask Blaine, following up on his advisement.

"Not yet. Ill do that now. Did you manage to gain intel? What was the conversation about?" ask Carl.

"Lucius knows where Elizabeths work is hidden at," tells Blaine, a cold static of electric running down the course of his spine as he mutters those words. "Hes going to go after the family, and he asked his nephew to get it for him."

"Shit. Were running out of time," says Carl and he sounds more urgent than ever. "Im going to get serious on finding Lucius. You need to keep an eye on the boy- make sure that Noah kid doesnt lay a finger on him. Ill send a security detail on the father. Retrieve the objective as soon as you can, Blaine."

"I know," says Blaine, and though normally he would burst Carls pressure away, he knew the man was right. "Ill keep an eye on the boy."

Blaine exits the locker room and follows the route back to the football field. It was night fall already and the only source of light came from the theatre screen at the very front where they were showing words of cautions to the viewers- who were jeering and chanting to start the movie.

"Why the hell were you looking for me?" the voice of Puck startles Blaine. The jock walks straight up to him, with his herd of loyal followers on his tracks.

"I-- wanted to know where you got your shoes from," says Blaine but he sighs to himself at the most ridiculous lie in the world. Even the boy looks confused. "Theyre really cool and I wondered where you got it from."

"Sorry, hobbit," rudely says the jock. "They only come in mens size."

"Thats great," says Blaine. He needed to tame himself because, looking into Puckermans dark eyes, it sent a surge of anger through his veins. Puck was a threat to Kurt, and for some reason, it made him even more angrier than usual.

"Thats all then?" ask the boy, a sarcastic flair to his words.

"Not quiet," says Blaine. He steps forward and is now in close proximity with the jock. He could feel the hear radiating off the boys body. "I want you to know that I am very protective when it comes down to the people I care about, so if you even so much as accidentally touch one of my friends, youre going to find yourself in the bottom of a well so fast you would think breathing took a longer time. Understood?"

He was not sure if the jock understood his underlying threat, but from the look of confusion riddled across his stricken face, Blaine knew that at least the message was converted. He glare at the jock one last time, before he turns and walks away with one of the jocks questioning Puck, asking him what the hell was that all about.

Blaine retreats to his car, which was surprisingly difficult to find. Apparently black is a popular color amongst motorist. His car camouflaged with the rest, until finally he recognized his neighbor- the bright pink beetle and knew his car was there- but there was a boy leaning against the side of his vehicle.

He was a tall boy, donned in a very comfy and effortless looking get up. His arms is folded across his chest, the wool material in folds on his elbow area. His legs were long and wrapped impeccable by the skinny jeans he had on. His hair was styled to perfection, face youthful and innocent and eyes as bright and clear as the Mediterranean Sea.

"Kurt?" says Blaine as he approaches the boy. The greeting takes him by surprise and pulls him from whatever train of thought he was on.

"Lance, hi," timidly responds the boy. "Im sorry, but is waiting by your car a little stalkerish to you?"

"Not at all. Im surprised you even found it with the number of black cars here. What is everyones obsession with black cars anyway?" ask Blaine, somehow feeling more liberated and calm after seeing the boy here- a sensation he always got from looking into those bright cyan eyes.

"It probably makes people feel more professional or something, though I must say it beats the alternative," says the boy, jerking his chin towards the heinous pink car.

"I think youre right," says Blaine. "So, did you walk here or something?"

"The cars are parked all the way to the back, so I just abandoned my car at the parking lot and looked for you by foot. You should he grateful. Shows are made for fashion, not function," jokes the boy.

"I am grateful," laughs Blaine. "Im glad youre here. The movies about to start I think. Ill buy us popcorn if you can find the station for the audio in my car stereo?"

"Deal. Sweet, please. I hate salty," says the boy.

"Got it," says Blaine as he makes his way to the crowded popcorn stall. He kept on glancing back to his car to make sure the boy, Kurt, wasnt bothered by anyone. He couldnt explain it- he was protective by nature but more so to the boy than any of his subjects before.

"Manage to get it?" ask Blaine as he climbs into his car, popcorn and drinks in hand.

"Yes. Thank you so much," says the boy as he gingerly takes the drink offered to him. "I almost didnt wanted to come tonight."

"Why not?" ask Blaine. Kurt takes the few seconds to himself as he sips on the cold Pepsi, eyes wandering as if redrawing from his body, before he comes back to reality.

"Just-- I dont know. Some stuff at home I guess, which is odd because when you have shit you have to go through at home, you would think youd try to find every possible excuse to go out," says the boy.

"Not necessarily," says Blaine, earning the boys attention. "There are various ways to deal with shit that happens behind closed doors. Some choose to go out, to get distraction, to distant themselves from what is bringing them down, some choose to confront it because you can run as far away from home problems as you can, but eventually youre still going to home to go back home."

"I just- dont think this is something that can be resolved any time soon. Im allowed to runaway for just a short while, right?" hopefully ask the boy. Blaine would have wanted to find the root cause of his sorrow, but it they boy was not comfortable, there really was no point.

"Like I said- different ways to dealing," smiles Blaine with assurance. The screen up front suddenly illuminates with bright colors, drawing both their attentions as the the movie begun.

---------

"That was a pretty shitty movie, wouldnt you agree?" ask Kurt as the movie drew to a close and the credits begun to roll.

"I wouldnt say shitty exactly," says Blaine. "I mean- getting a chance to be a teenager again, to change the course of your life after youve lived it sounds pretty interesting."

"Maybe if you were a fat old man working for a cheap company earning the minimum wage," says Kurt. "I think this is the schools way of telling us to make good choices or telling us to not make mistakes so we wont have any regrets? Do you have any regrets?"

The question was enticing to Blaine, something he never thought about- at least, not until this mission. He had been wondering if forgoing his childhood, and his years of being a teenager was really the best decision. Through the movie, he wondered that if he was given the chance to go back to the past, to undo his future, would he do it?

"Lance?" presses the boy, eyes sharp and blue at him.

"I think everybody has regrets, but in reality, there is no wizardy janitor hanging around the corridors waiting to give us second chances or whatever. We live we regrets," shrugs Blaine because it was true. This was his life, and he would shut that Pandora box and never think about it again.

"Jesus, youre like a self-help good arent you?" jokes the boy, a bright smile graced on his face, a smile that obliterates Blaines thoughts.

"Sorry," says Blaine. He looks out the wind-shield and notices how everybody is starting to pull out of the football field. He was confused for a momentary second, that is until a loud pounding sound from his drivers room startles him.

Jacob stands there, a wide creepy smile on his face as Blaine rolls down the window, eyeing the boy curiously. "Are you guys going to the after party?"

"Damn, Jacob. Never pegged you to be the after party type," says Blaine, in which the boy blushes shyly.

"Everybody is going. Hey, Kurt," says Jacob, casually waving to the boy. "Leave your cars by that old quarry and follow the glow sticks into the clearing."

"I thought it was behind the football field?" ask Blaine, remembering the details he heard from Marley and her two friends Artie and Tina.

"It is, but we cant leave our cars here," tells Jacob. "Kurt should know where the quarry is, right?"

"Yeah. I used to swim there with my parents on the weekends," tells Kurt.

"Okay then. See you guys there," says Jacob as he proceeds back to his car.

"Kinda nervous. Ive never been to a party before," says Kurt, running his hands together as if to keep warm. He was practically shivering in the passengers seat.

"We can leave if you want," shurgs Blaine, though a part of him was begging Kurt would want to go.

"No regrets, right?" smirks the boy, in which Blaine smiles and starts the ignition, pulling out of the football field and following the line of cars down a very dark road just a few minutes away from the school, until they came to a small gravel plane where there was a rusty gate that blocked the rest of the road.

"I think were suppose to follow those glow sticks," tells Kurt, his index finger pointing towards a blue glow stick that hangs in the branch of a tree, behind the gates.

"But it writes No Entry," points out Blaine, reading the big signage on the door of the rusty cage that was chained shut.

"Well I guess were just gonna have to climb now, wont we?" smirks the boy as he unbuckles his seat belt and pushes the door open.

"You just have a whole darker side to you that I dont know about, dont you?"

"Ill never tell you," says the boy as he clambers out the car and gestures for Blaine to follow him. He knew for a fact that what awaits deep inside the forest was indeed illicit, and though he has broken the rules quite a bit in his life, nothing gave him more of a rush than in this moment.

Kurt stands at the foot of the tall cage, looking up as if judging the height and the risk of possibly falling to his death. Blaine wonders briefly if maybe the boy was just as nervous as he was, that is until he hooks his fingers into the small gaps of the metal wires and begins to climb the fence as if he had done this countless of times. He does it so professionally, not facing any sort of hiccup at all until he reaches the top, sits on the ledge and jumps onto the other side.

"Coming?" ask the boy, his head tilted slightly. The moon light licks across his pale skin, illuminating just one of his eyes, but that single eye was enough to sent shivers down Blaines spine. It never ceases to amaze him just how beautiful those eyes were.

"Yes," says Blaine as he stands at the ready to conquer the cage wall. He knew it would he easy. It wasnt as if the CIA did not train to him gain entry into prohibited places. He practically climbed the cage in a matter of seconds before he joined the boy at the wilder side.

There are a few groups of teenagers laughing and cheering ahead of them as they walk through the dense forest, down the small route of dirt that is on dimly lighted by the glow sticks. Blaine could hear the infrequent hoot of an owl, the sound of crickets as the ventured deeper into the forest, comforted only by the thumpa-thumpa of music up ahead.

"Youve never been to a party like this?" ask the boy, his face hidden in the darkness.

"Never one in a forest, if thats what youre asking," says Blaine. "I heard this was an annual thing. Not once have you gone?"

"Nope. First time too," says Kurt, his voice shaking slightly.

"Well us rookies should stick together," says Blaine, in which the boy emits a shy laughter.

"Agreed," says Kurt.

In that moment, at the very end of the unconventional route they followed was bright and the music became louder. In the mix were also the sound of loud chattering and joyful laughter. Blaine knew it before he even arrived at the scene- the party was here.

"Lance! There you are!" shouts Artie as he wheels his chair towards him, the Asian girl Tina following closely behind.

"Hey guys," says Blaine as they arrived at the scene.

The clearing was wide, almost the size of the schools football field. In the centre of the entire clearing stood a tall wooden structure that was burning with glory as the students constantly threw things at the foot of it. The music seemed to come from the back of a van where there was an impressive stereo set with about five big, huge speakers. A few inches away from the vehicle were dozens of portable ice boxes that no doubt were filled with alcoholic beverages. The whole scene was like something ripped out of a movie- a wild, teenage party.

"Isnt this great or what!" exclaims the wheelchair boy, his spectacles reflecting the source of light that stands in the middle of the clearing. "Did you guys bring anything to throw into the bonfire?"

"I was hoping to dump my past in there," jokes Kurt.

"Anything goes," says Tina. "Seniors last night to party! Were gonna go dance. See you guys later!" she says before she wheels Artie away.

"Well, this doesnt look as bad as I had pictured it," says Kurt.

"Nope," says Blaine. "Definitely better."

"I need a drink," says Kurt as he leads the way towards the beverage section. There were a bunch of people dancing away to what sounds like robot music to Blaine. He wondered how long exactly has he deprived himself from the music world because this could not be what the kids were listening to these days.

Kurt pulls out two bottles or whatever beer that was in there and hands on to Blaine. Having spent a lot of nights alone to a dingy apartment, waiting for his next assignment, Blaine was no stranger to a nice cold beer, but the boy however looks at it as if it might morph into a skin disease.

"You alright?" ask Blaine.

"Ive never had one before," says the boy.

"A beer?"

"Alcohol in general," says the boy, and he sounds more embarrassed than ever.

"Dont let me peer pressure you into drinking but let me tell you- beer is yet another way of running away from your problems," says Blaine.

The boy takes a few long seconds to himself as he stares at the cold brew in his hands. It was as if he didnt know what to do with it. He looks deep in thought almost, as if judging if chugging it down would make him a bad person. It was strangely riveting for Blaine as he watched the boy contemplate to surrender his innocence.

"To running away," says the boy, and in a swift second he brings the tip of the bottle to his lips and practically empty the bottle with one gulp. His face twist uncomfortably at first, until he relaxes and a wide smile forms.

--------

"I cant even hear myself think!" shouts Kurt over the loud music as he dances randomly. He is far from gone, lost in the oblivion that is known as being wasted.

"Thats kind of the point," responds Blaine in an equally loud volume as he dances opposites the boy.

In comparison with how the boy looked so down earlier in the night, he definitely shrugged that baggage off his shoulders because he was dancing as if he won a million dollars. It was good to see the boy loosening up and celebrating his youth. He deserve to be this liberated.

"I like you, Lance," incoherently says Kurt as he places both his hands on Blaines shoulders and took a step closer. His head still went with the beat of the music, his hair stuck to his forehead from his sweat.

He only had a drink or two so he still was in the right state of mind, but the boy might have had twelve too many. Before the boy could even respond, the back of Blaines pocket started to vibrate and as he pulls it out to find Carls number calling in.

"Ill be right back," says Blaine, looking into the boys signature eyes but he was vacant as he moved to the music. Blaine managed to slip away from the boy, despite his had grasp on his shoulders. He headed a little deeper into the forest, the music just mere vibrations from here.

"What is it, Carl?" irritably ask Blaine as he slides to answer and places his phone to his head but not before making sure the coast was clear.

"You alright? Its past one AM. Where are you?" ask Carl, concern riddled in his tone.

"Jesus, Carl. Im with the kid. Quit having your nose up my business, man. Any more updates on the case?" ask Blaine.

"Not so much. I had someone from New York go done to the federal prison and collect whatever files on Lucius they can. I should get it faxed by tomorrow," says Carl. "Why are you still out with the kid anyway?"

"A party. Before you say anything, Im simply here to keep an eye on the kid like you asked me to," says Blaine, making his intentions clear to Carl before the man went all disapproving on him.

"Fine," says Carl, sighing heavily. "You should also know that the security detail I put on the father reported that he is at some bar in the central area of Lima. Were making sure he doesnt cause a scene or whatever because he has quite a few shots-- or so the team says," tells Carl.

"Well, make that two Hummels wasted and drunk. Ill take the kid home. Make sure the father doesnt get behind the wheel. See you later," says Blaine as he ends the call, just in time for Jacob to come barreling at him.

"Lance! You need to come quick!" he says in a panic. "Its Kurt!"

Without a seconds hesitation, Blaine runs past the boy and back to the life of the party where there were laughter going on at the central of the clearing. Blaine pushes his way through the crowd of people, muttering profanities as he finally got to the front- much to his surprise.

The boy, Kurt, was dressed only in his boxer briefs, swinging his pants in the air and dancing like a complete fool. His eyes are closed but his lips were mouthing in sync with the lyrics. It was humiliating, but the boy was oblivious due to his too far gone drunken state.

"Take off the underwear too!" yells a girl and Blaine recognizes as the Latina whom had asked to come with him to this party earlier this week.

The moment Kurt hooked his fingers on the waistband of his underwear, Blaine rushes forward, shrugging off his hoodie as throwing it onto the boy. The crowd falls to a unison jeer as Blaine puts an end to the show.

"Dont be a party pooper, asshole!" yells the same Latina girl. "You never stop a strip show!"

"Kurt, Ill take you home," says Blaine as he wraps the jacket around the boys naked torso.

"I wanna dance!" murmurs the boy as he struggles in protest Blaine eventually caves at Blaines tight grip. He gathers the boys clothes in one arm and ushers the big through the jeering crowd.

"He might have had too much too drink," says Jacob as he shadows Blaines footsteps.

"No shit, Jacob," says Blaine and just as they were about to embark in that dark walkway back to the car, there were loud shrieking coming from where the party was.

"Cops! Every man for himself!" yells out a deep groan of a boy. Blaine glances over to Jacob who does not look surprised.

"This always happens," says Jacob.

"A little heads up would have been nice! Help me get him back to the car," says Blaine.

The three of them walk briskly down the dark and dirty pathway, back to the prohibited entrance. Blaine had to practically carry the boy because he was too drunk to even take two stable steps. They finally arrived to the tall metal gates, only to be upon another problem.

"How do we get him to climb?" ask Jacob. Going through his thoughts, Blaine wondered it himself but ultimately came to a plan.

"Wait here," says Blaine as he gives Kurt to Jacobs responsibility. He climbs the hate swiftly and jumps to the other side.

"What are you gonna do?" ask Jacob as Blaine slides into his car, starts his ignition and accelerated straight for the gate. It burst open without much of a effort.

"Get in," orders Blaine. Jacob struggled to get Kurt to the back seat before he jumps into the passenger seat himself.

The police sirens were loud and from every corner of the forest, people were filing out and running for the hills. Blaine could not help but to enjoy the thrill of it. A little innocent crime never hurt anyone. He pulls out of the parking lot of the quarry and drives down the road, heaving a sigh of relief.

"That was close," says Jacob. "Though I did left my friends behind- and i am their ride home."

"Are you kidding me, Jacob?" says Blaine, immediately swerving the car around much to Jacobs surprise. Kurt is in the back, singing to himself in complete drunken bliss.

"What are you doing?" ask Jacob.

"Taking you back to your car so you can drive the guys home, duh," says Blaine. It was lucky he hadnt driven far from the quarry. It took mere minutes from them to get back and for Blaine to drop Jacob off, no matter how reluctant he was.

As he made his way towards Kurts home, he could help but to smile at how exhilirating that just felt. Aside the party which itself was pretty hectic and wild, the whole risk of getting caught was such an adrenaline rush. He used to question why teenagers were stupid to throw wild parties like that, but now he knew why. He felt-- young, for some reason. As if no time had went by and that this was his years of misguided adolescence. He knew now- that maybe rushing through his childhood and his years of granted teenage mistakes was definitely not the wisest of decisions.

Blaine pulls into the driveway of the Hummels humble abode. There were no lights from the few windows on the ground story. He knew of course that Burt Hummel was at some sleazy bar getting wasted. Maybe something did happen between Kurt and his father earlier in the day. It should explain why both parties decided to get drunk beyond the lines of sanity. Kurt was still in the back, still singing to some unknown song. His voice sounds good though, despite his state of mind.

"Okay, were here," says Blaine as he struggles to help the boy out of the back seat. He is still wearing Blaines jacket. The only piece of clothing that is keeping him decent, apart from the boxer brief of course.

"Are we in wonderland?" ask the boy, eyes taking in the surroundings.

"Not quite," says Blaine as he throws the boys hand around his neck and stumbles to walk up the front porch.

"The sky is so pretty. I want to live in the sky," dreamily says the boy.

They make it into the empty dark house as Kurt erupts into yet another song. It was hard enough getting the boy to walk on flat ground. They nearly rolled down the stairs together, but eventually Blaine managed to get the boy into his room and onto his bed as he sings aloud as if it was the happiest time of his life.

The boy looks absolutely on of his wits sprawled in his bed, his underwear as his form of decency- not that he didnt look good in only underwear, Blaine could not deny. Blaine collects his jacket from the boy and swings it around his own body.

"Youre gonna be alright?" ask Blaine, seeking assurance before he takes his departure but the boy is temporarily deaf as he continues to sing. "Ill see you Monday, okay?"

"Dont leave me, Lance," pleads the boy. He crawls towards Blaine and manages to reach the corner of his jacket. He tugs Blaine backwards and he stumbles onto the boys bed. "Dont leave. I like being around you," murmurs the boy.

"Kurt, youre drunk. Its best to sleep it off. Do you want a drink?" ask Blaine as he steadily rises to his feet and props the boys pillow for him.

"No," he mutters, his voice rising an octave as if saying no was the happiest thing he has ever done. "Lie with me, please."

The boys sharp cyan eyes stare up at Blaine intently, practically bypassing all his layers of mystery. It was eerie, and somehow very hypnotizing. He knew very well it was not a good idea, but as he trailed the boys verging close to nude body, he was draw to it like a moth to a fire.

Blaine sighs as he slides into the boys bed, his back resting on the headboard. "Go to sleep, Kurt," says Blaine as he stroked the boys hair.

He could not help it. It felt odd just lying still there as if it was awkward. Not saying that I wasnt, but at least comforting the boy with a few innocent gestures felt more natural than the alternative. He wondered how long the boy would take to fall asleep, or a better question would he how long Burt Hummel would take to come home and find his son having a boy at home. He was not sure how the father would react, but given the circumstance- it definitely was not an innocent scene through a fathers eyes.

"I like being around you," intones the boy. He does not sound sleepy. His voice however has a deeper pitch to it, almost as if it was him and not his drunken that muttered those words.

There is a shift in the mattress in that moment that jolts Blaine to a less somnolence state. He did not realize that he was beginning to doze off, but the shift in weight woke him. It was dark in the room. He could not make up anything besides the moonlight streaming into the bedroom from the small porthole window, but he feels it then- the heat radiating off a body edging closer to him.

His legs are outstretched, but he feels he feels something jabbing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. What really startled him, however, were the sudden cold hands that emerged from the pitch black, only to rest on the warmth of his skin. His hand searches for where Kurt was suppose to be, but the space was empty now- and he knew why.

The boy was straddling his lap.

"Kurt- what are you doing?" asked Blaine in a hushed whisper. For some reason, he felt his throat closing in on him. His palms began to sweat and even though he could not feel it with his hands exactly, he knew his heart was hammering in his chest.

"I like being around you," says the boy, his voice reaching a new depth. His sweet breath coated with alcohol caressed Blaines nostrils. He knew it should have repulsed him, but for some reason it did the opposite.

Blaine had only been with a few men in sexual terms. He knew sex, loved it even, but given he was always on the field, there was rarely any time at all to satisfy his desires, to feed his carnal hunger. The last time he had been intimate with a men was probably ten months ago- a handsome bloke he met at a bar around the corner of fifth avenue in New York. Since then, he had either had no sex at all, or the occasional sex with himself at a cubicle in a public restroom.

He could predict what was coming in the most so distant minutes. He should sense it. Maybe if he had drank as much as the boy did, he would surrender to this, but he knew better. He knew it was wrong- much Ike the moth and the flame. Subconsciously he knew when he slid onto the boys bed. Did he have enough will power to push this vulnerable yet ungodly good looking away? He did not have a choice.

"Kurt, you need sleep, okay? Youre drunk. Please-"

"I dont need sleep. I need you," whispers the boy. His breath warmer on Blaines cheek now which meant his lips- those moist pink lips he had the pleasure of admiring for a few weeks now- were just inches away with one intention. "I need you- in me, Lance."

That sent a shudder down his spine. Something about the way the boy had said those words, riddled with innocence and inexperienced yet full of determination. Blaine had to close his eyes for the briefest of seconds to remind himself to keep his composure, to not fall at this boys altar because God knows with his raging sexual desires and his utter admiration for the boy and his physiques which he had tried his best to ignore, he would.

"Kurt-"

"Please, Lance," says the boy in desperation. Blaine had never been a fan of desperation, but just the way those words came out as a lack of breath, as if he needed Blaine for oxygen, sent that shudder right down to his groin.

He needed to push the boy off, to take control of the situation before the situation consumed him but a part of him also did not want to. He had found the boy to be very interesting, very alluring in his own unique way, but he couldnt. He needed to remind himself of that no matter how silky soft the boys skin was.

"Kiss me," says the boy. "Claim me, Lance."

The devil would be smiling at this point. He knew it was wrong- on many, many levels wrong. Apart from the age gap and how this was practically statutory molest, the opportunity still dangled in front of him like a piece of raw meat in front of a very hungry lion. He knew he needed to gain control, but he was weak. He was weak for this boy. He knew it was a mistake, but that the warmth was too good to pass up. He would regret this later, but he leans forward and catches the boys lips and its as if his thoughts were obliterated into dust.

In his life, he has met a few good kissers. Some with extreme tongue skills that could throw him over the edge by the mere seconds, but this boy was different. There was something about the way his lips motioned. It was as if his lips had a mind of their own and knew exactly which part to contact with Blaine. They were soft and moist. Softer than whatever baby lotions promised. The boy wasnt sloppy, he was in control yet in the back seat at the same time. Blaine could have very well convulsed, and when the boy slipped his tongue past the barriers of his lips, the shudder ran down to Blaines groin yet again.

All the thoughts and battles he had in his head were gone. Now the only question that lingered in his brain was why had he not done it sooner. It was criminal to have waited this long.

He could feels his erection stabbing the zipper of his jeans. The kiss itself managed that. He felt the boys cold hands now slowly making their way down to rest on his chest. He wanted more. He wanted more of this boy with the amazing lips. He pushed the jacket off the boy and travelled his hands down the silky fine back. The boys spine was protruding out of his skin. He met no blemishes or whatever of the sort on his journey down the boys back. He urged the boy closer, filling every inch of spade they had between them. He had no rational thoughts because at this moment, all he wanted was the boy.

Their lips still latched together as the boy grabbed the hem of Blaines shirt and pull it off in one swift motion. Blaine could not protest. He did not want to. The boy now sat on Blaines groin. His no doubt puckered entrance just mere fabrics away from Blaines frustrated erection. His hand travelled lower and were now at the bottom of his spine. A little lower and he would have those firm cheeks he only could imagine from those skinny jeans the boy was always wearing in his tight grasp. He wanted to fell every inch of this boy, venture every anatomy this boy had to offer.

The boy had said to claim him, but it felt more that the boy was claiming him than the other way around. He would surrender his soul for this. He knew it was irrational thoughts, but the way this boy felt on his lips gave him irrational thoughts.

The bed room was silent, but their heavy breathing echoed around the four walls. Blaine wondered just how loud they were. Could the neighbors hear? He did not care. Let the world hear even.

Blaine rolls over and let the boy fall on his back. He takes the few heartbeats to know it was a mistake, until he dives in again and lets the boy take him far up into the heavens with those lips on his. He felt the boys cold hands running down the side of his body. They were tantalizing. His fingers just had a magical wand affect on every part of Blaine that he touched.

Blaine was not sure how far he would let this get, but devised no plan whatsoever to stop what feels so right. The sinful moans the boy was making threatened to tip Blaine off the edge every time, but those lips brought him steady. He needed to taste every inch of skin stretched over this creature. His lips trailed down the boys neck and he thrashes, his ability to articulate anything is fuzzed. The boy was as smooth as he looked. His skin could have very well passed for an expensive fur rug. Blaine left a trail of kisses down the boys stomach, knowing full well what the last station was. His fingers found the waistband of the boys underwear but something jolts him then.

The sound of a door slam sends tremors around the bed room. He knew it came from the entrance. Blaine remembers now- the father. He must have just got home, and a fathers first duty to do when he arrives home is to always check on his kids. Blaine scrambles quickly out of bed. He hadnt realized his zipper had been pulled down and his belt lose. He searched for his shirt in the darkness and sighs in relief when he grabs the mere fabric of his familiar upper wear.

The boy seemed in a daze. Even in the darkness, Blaine could see him looking left to right and then finally he flops down to his bed. Blaine slides underneath it when he hears the bedroom door open. He held his breath, for fear that maybe breathing was the sound of a grenade exploding in a silent room. He hears the footsteps coming down the stairs. What feels like years later, until finally the door slams shut and the room is silent once more.

The boy is fast asleep- and really asleep this time when Blaine had crawled out from under the bed. The moonlight has now shifted its path and is now shining right at the boy, licking his pale skin with its grey hues. He looked serene now, as if it was his last hour and in his death bed.

As Blaine takes residence on the small couch placed a few centimetres away from the bed, he takes the time to gather what just happened but one question is louder than the rest.

What the fuck just happened.

----------

Daylight leaks through the seams of the blinders, illuminating Kurts bedroom giving the illusion that it was somewhat not a place he found to be a refuge from sorrow. Kurt flutters his eyelids, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. His mind feels as if an angry tornado had paid a visit. His throat was so dry he wondered when was the last time he had a drink.

Choosing to spend just a little but more time in bed, Kurt tries to collect the little fragments of memories he had from the previous night. His memory was very vague. The last thing he remembered was of course being at that movie with Lance, then to that after party. His memory was a blur when he tried to recall the number of drinks he had. 3? 4? Maybe more even. Everything was bleak, the last memory was of him debating whether to take that first sip.

He had never even encountered alcohol in his life. Sometimes at Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas parties, his dad would permit him to have one sip but that was it. He had never willingly accepted a bottle of alcohol on his accord, and though the huge migraine he had would protest any future endeavours of drinking again, the feeling was somewhat interesting-- to have no recollection of the night before. Its almost as if you could have been hurt to the point of insanity even last night, but when you wake up the next day you dont have to face it because you dont remember.

Slowly, Kurt rises to a sit down position, his eyes still so sensitive to the sunlight. He wondered if this was what Vampires suffered with sunlight, because if so, he understood fully their need to feed on blood. He studied his room and wondered how he had gotten down here without falling down the stairs and breaking an arm or something. Surely he could not have arrived safely down to his bedroom. But soon his prayers are answered.

His sight falls upon the small reading couch he had bought a few months ago at a flea market. It was one of his best buys- though he did have to negotiate further with the seller but eventually he got it at a steal. Kurt could be very persuasive if he wanted to be, but on to what stole his attention. There is a person lying there. His feet are propped up on the arm rest and his head so peacefully slumbers on the other end. His body stretched out across the couch but it fits him perfectly.

Kurt thought how the boy had probably helped him into his bedroom, and stayed to make sure everything was okay. The gesture was sweet, but soon after his worry started to flood in. What were the embarrassing things he had probably muttered to the boy? Was his actions self-humiliating? From watching his father sometimes coming home drunk, or his uncles getting drunk at their annual Christmas parties, drunken people often say or do something embarrassing. Now the notion of having no recollection of last night is starting to be a burden.

Kurt slides out of his bed, quietly, and tiptoes over to his closet. He was dressed solely in underwear. The simple thought of the boy stripping his clothes for him was- arousing, but absolutely humiliating at he same time. Kurt grabbed a few simple clothes- some pyjama pants and an oversize t-shirt and made his way to the bathroom across the bedroom in stealth mode. The boy was still fast asleep. He was snoring even, but not the repugnant kind of snoring. This snoring was somehow pleasant to the ear, comforting in an intense situation should it be.

Slipping into the comfort of his bathroom, he stares in the mirror and had almost not recognized the person in front of him. His cheeks had no color in them, his eyes were bloodshot and the heavy bags underneath his eyes were unmistakable even from Pluto. His hair was in disproportion but there was something that struck his curiosity most. There was a huge red spot on his neck. He skimmed his fingers through it but it did not hurt. He wondered what it was for awhile. Maybe he had scratched himself last night? Or maybe an allergic reaction from the alcohol? It did not particularly hurt. Stung a little maybe, but nothing intolerable.

Choosing to put that aside, Kurt got to work on the hot mess that stands in his reflection. He took a warm shower first, allowing the summers water to coat his body and rejuvenate his spirit, obliterating the aches and migraines. Last night was a blank sheet of canvas. It was annoying to not remember what he did last night.

Having done with his skin regimes, he pulled on a bathrobe and carefully peeped into the bedroom from the small creak of the bedroom. It was stupid of course, to feel as if he was invasive in his own bedroom. The boy was still snoring soundly away, dead to the world. Kurt wondered if the boy had just as much to drink as him, though doubtful otherwise who would have driven him home.

Driven..his car! Kurt rushed up the stairs two steps at a time as he burst out into the open neighbourhood with only an immoral bathrobe. His heart sank not seeing his car in his drive way, but relief at the same time because who would know the condition of his car if he had driven home himself. Lance was probably the designated driver last night, which explains why his family sized SUV was sitting where Kurts car was suppose to be seated at.

As Kurt descended down to his bedroom, a loud lawn filters the air and he knew then that the boy, Lance, must be awake. He felt nervous for some reason, because Lance had probably been in sobriety and witnessed Kurt at his drunken state. Who knows what he had seen or heard. The room came to an aerial view as Kurt arrived closer to the end of the staircase. A step creaked and the boys heard shot straight to Kurts direction. One of his thick eyebrows were raised as he took in Kurts get up.

"Morning," greets the boy, a curious hint to his words.

"I was- wondering if my car made it safely. Turns out it didnt make it here at all," says Kurt.

It was a real wonder how the boy still managed to look handsome even when he just woke up from what sounded like a very deep sleep. His eyes were still hazel and bright, his hair though were tugged and pulled in different areas still managed to look presentable. Some people just have better luck when it came to appearance, and this boy definitely stood in the front line when God out good looks.

"Your car is still at McKinleys parking lot. I can drive you there if youd like," offers the boy.

"Sure. After I get dressed first of course," jokes Kurt but the boy emits a nervous laughter for some reason. His eyes quickly glanced away as Kurt walked into his closer, slipping the robe off as he searched for something to wear. "Im sorry you had to sleep on the couch- or here at all."

"Its fine," says the boy. He sounds clipped.

Kurt pulled out a lilac sweater and a pair of disgruntled jeans. This would be casual enough. He emerged out the closet fully dressed, where the boy was still seated on the couch. He had creases on his face, his brows in a deep furrow as if deep in thought.

"You alright?" ask Kurt, in which startles the boy.

"Yup," says the boy, though it sounds contrived, Kurt decided to not pursue the matter.

"You can take a shower if youd like," offers Blaine in which the boy refused.

There was something about him that was odd. Almost as if he was dodging Kurt or something. He looked antsy even, like he couldnt wait to get out of here.

"So what exactly happened last night? I feel like I got abducted by aliens and had my memories wiped out or something. Did I do anything embarrassing?"

The boy seems to contemplate this for a second or two, which sets an uneasy feeling in Kurt. A numerous humiliating scenarios flashed through his head and none if them put him in the least at ease.

"You did- dance in your underwear in front of everyone at the bonfire," tells the boy and it was if an entire weight was dropped onto Kurts weight. He had no recollection whatsoever of that even happening.

"Oh my god," says Kurt in complete humiliation. "Are you serious? In front of everyone?"

"By the time I found you, you were stripped to just undergarments. Sorry," says the boy, a smile threatening to form on his lips but he kept it in a grim line because he knew Kurt did not find it funny.

"Im going to be the laughing stock of the entire school! Not that I am already am not-"

"Relax. Im sure youll be fine," interjects the boy, offering a word of solace but it was to no avail.

Kurt very well knew. In his 10th grade, Noah Puckerman had painted the section of a chair in which his butt would contact with it brown, and Kurt hadnt realized. He was wearing white pants that day, so as the day went on he walked around with no knowledge whatsoever that it looked as if he had pooped in his pants. It was the single most embarrassing thing that has happened to him, at least until recent events. They did not let him breathe for like six months, calling him stupid and unintelligible names like Shit Boy.

"Urg. I cant believe I did that, but I am comforted that at least senior year will end soon so Ill just have to endure them for another maybe- 4 weeks?" says Kurt as he came to this conclusion. All would he fine. He has had to endure so much worse. This was grain as compared to a cooked rice. "Did I do anything else?"

The same look of hesitance befalls upon the boys face. It was definitely not comforting, but what else could he have possibly done in his short state of drinker dementia?

"Nothing else," smiles the boy, though Kurt could not help but to notice the contrived muscles on his cheek bones.

"Okay then," says Kurt, choosing to brush it off. "Do you want breakfast before we go? I can cook a mean plate of pancakes."

"Its okay. Come on Ill drive you. Best be heading back anyway."

"Oh! Of course. Im sorry you had to stay over, but thank you though."

"My pleasure. Trust me," says the boy as they ascend up the stairs.

The drive down to McKinley is somewhat awkward. There is an odd energy that balls them up in the confinement of the car. The music fleets, acting as the only thing that keeps them from talking but apart from the music, there was definitely something odd in the way the boy was asking.

"I reckon he party was good at least?" ask Kurt, choosing to be break the awkward silence.

"I guess," says the boy, still a little vague. His eyes set on the road itself.

Kurt could not help but to admire those strong biceps of the boy, his firm hands grasp around the wheel in full control. Something about those hands however were familiar, as if he had touched them in a dream maybe. He could not deny that sometimes he fantasized about maybe holding hands with the boy, but there was definitely something familiar about them. He touched his neck again, in that red spot and decided to ask. Maybe the boy knew anything about it.

"Did I fall on something last night? It scratched myself or something?"

"Why you ask?"

"I have this huge red spot in my neck. Could be anything really. Cancer even. I dont know why I said that, Im sorry," says Kurt. Sometimes he could not control the words that leave his mouth.

The boys snap could not have snap quicker. He studied the spot with his eyes intently. They widen momentarily before they go back to the road.

"Maybe you scratched yourself," says the boy, an air of indifference.

"I thought so," says Kurt. It was a small matter of course, but small talk was definitely better than an enviable silence.

"Does it- hurt?" ask the boy. This time he really does sound curious.

"Not really. Stings a little but nothing intolerable," says Kurt.

The car makes a turn into McKinleys all too familiar car park and there sits his beautiful, shiny jet black SUV his that once belonged to his mother. The sight gives him a feeling of relief. He loved that car too much to be apart from it for more than a day. The boy pulls to a halt right next to it.

"Thank you, Lance. And thank you for getting me home safely last night, and sleeping on my couch. From first hand experience, I know for a fact it wasnt the most comfortable thing to be sleeping on," says Kurt.

"Dont worry about it," smiles Lance, a forced one yet again. It was as if he was guilty about something, and though Kurt had chose to waver it, he could not help himself but want to know.

"Is everything okay? Youre acting a wee bit strange," says Kurt, his eyes boring into the boy in question.

Lance remained inhibited, though his eyes mould into one of confound- deliberate or not was hard to conclude. "Im fine," assures the boy.

He wanted to pursue. A part of him knew that the boy was keeping something, but the basis of their new found friendship was trust after all, right? And their mutual comfort to be one anothers confidant. If something was of troubling matter, the boy would surely voice his thought process. He would leave it here. If the boy had wanted to tell, he would have.

"Okay then," sighs Kurt, hoping to show his exasperation and his slight desperation to know, but to no avail of course. "Thank you again. Ill see you Monday?"

"Yeah," says the boy, his lips upturned. Even that itself took all the muscles on his face to work in unison to perform. It was aggravating.

As the boys car pulled away, he tried with all his might to piece the enigmatic puzzle of his memory together. He had thought maybe forgetting a past event was actually an interesting concept, but no more if something hands in the balance. It was no use overworking his brain. Whatever happened did happen. Now all he had to do was to wait until Monday presented itself to know whether whatever the boy is keeping to himself is a jeopardizing mechanism of their friendship.

------------

Blaine walks through the thresholds of the CIAs temporary headquarters. He dared not face anyone just yet. He needed to screw his thoughts in place. He avoided all the greets and questions of the other less prominent agents as he made his way to the bedroom and instantaneously slams the door behind him.

He could not believe what happened last night. That was wrong, without a shadow of a doubt that had to be the worst thing to do in missions- and with subjects! There was no question as to whether he should tell Carl about it. He knew the Pandora box that would follow in its wake.

Once there was a fellow CIA agent who had got a little too close with his subject. Blaine did not know the entire story exactly because it was one of those idle gossip that went around the agency, but what he gathered was that Michael Donovan, that was his name, had fallen for the girl he was assigned to protect from a group of Russian men who dabbled in the black market of prostitution. The girl had escaped and was put under the protection of Michael, but clearly she was in a vulnerable state and maybe that appealed to Michael. The mission had turned for the worst. The girl lived, but the fate of Michael was questionable.

He did not want to share the same fate as Michael Donovan. Nothing was concrete of course, but there was a rumour that said the man was eliminated by the federal CIA itself because he was a liability to the entire agency. Nothing was of certain, but Blaine did not want to find out.

The fact that the boy had no recollection of what transpired between them last night was his sign that it was a mistake, and some higher power was giving him one more chance. He could not afford something like that to happen again, but seeing as how Kurt was his mission and his subject, how was he suppose to stay away from what could jeopardize the mission when the boy was the mission itself? It was confusing and he needed to rest, but in that very second, Carl walks into the room.

"Where the hell were you?" bellows the man, his hands in clenched fist resting on either sides of his hips. He could have very well passed for a worried mother. "Security detail on the Hummels residence said that you escorted the boy into the house but you never came out until morning. Care to explain?"

He was tongue tied. He knew telling the truth was definitely out of the question. Lying, however, would not be so difficult if he knew what to say. The scenario painted by Carl clearly led to something of the nature. He hated being under Carls brown eyes scrutiny. It was unnerving.

"The boy was drunk. I couldnt leave him alone," says Blaine, though he could hear how his voice quavered.

"Well report that to me next time," says Carl, his tone of aggravation. "I cant have the head agent of this damn operation be out all night without so much as a word of his well being! Need I remind you that we have no eyes if Lucius? He could have been in that house and killed you and we wouldnt even have known!"

"The team must be so fragile that you cant spot your suspect if he walked through the doors of the subject," stabs Blaine. He could not help it. Every time Carl even remotely rose his voice, he always wanted to counter the man.

"You know what I mean," responds the man. "Take responsibility, understood? Are we anywhere closer to the objective at least? Since you were in that house all night."

"No luck, unfortunately," says Blaine. He knew it would have made him look so incompetent in Carls eyes, but it certainly was better than the alternative. To be seen as an incompetent agent who slept with his subject.

"Ive been hearing that a lot, and naturally you know my response so Im not going to say it," says Carl. Thank goodness. He could handle Carls incessant nagging, but he could not handle another Hurry Up. "I have Lucius fellow prison mates when he did time."

"Great. Lets hear them," says Blaine because at least this will shift his focus on something other than the memory of how soft Kurts lips were.

"Tentatively, the prisoner cellars were mostly crooks who did time for rape, drug dealing and assault and battery. I have their names on the file. Ill pass it to you later, but nothing that suggest that any of them are remotely tech savvy. I highly doubt his accomplice was someone from his prison days," tells Carl as he absorbed the information.

"Then a new friend, my bet. Which means there is no telling who it might be, and what theyre doing is blocking our access than gaining anything from us at all. Is Lucius in sight at all?" ask Blaine.

"Nope. Its honestly started to frustrate me. I havent had this much trouble locating a criminal since finding out Osamas whereabouts. The director has suggested a new take," tells Carl. He was reserved for some reason, as if his authority was trumped and that he did not agree to whatever the directors plans were. "He wants to let the family know, and retrieve it."

"But that would stir a panic in the family. We cant do that," says Blaine. He realized he had suggested this initially himself, but seeing now the innocence of the boy, he could not bear to watch him fear his life any more than he already does on a daily basis in school. "We cant that."

"Then you have to speed things up with the objective, Blaine. Thats really the only other alternative. The director is giving you two weeks. Two weeks and if you dont succeed, hell pulling the plug," regretfully tells Carl.

There was certainly no other alternative. No alternative that Blaine felt comfortable with, at least. He needed to get the ball rolling. Spend less time worrying about the students of McKinley and helping them rebel against the the chronic school status quo and started focusing in his career.

An idea came so suddenly to his brain. It was risky, definitely, and only stood a fifty percent chance of prevailing. He knew there was a way to get even closer to the boy, crossed the boundary for the benefit of both parties involved in this operation, but he would have to be inconspicuous. He would need to keep the CIA in the dark, but truly he wondered if what he was devising was solely to aid and fuel the operation, or was it of his own desires.

------------

Kurt had spent a good amount of the day dodging every student who teased him about that little show he put on for them, the one he had no recollection about. It was humiliating. At one point in the day, Santana Lopez had came up to him and started throwing single dollar bills and demanded another strip show.

He managed to slip to the bathroom before the rest of the student body could chime into a unison laughter. He tried to salvage whatever dignity he had left by keeping his chin up and feigning as if it did not bother him, but it did. He needed to remind himself that there was only four weeks left to senior year. He could endure this, no problem.

There was something else that had him wondering though. The little red spot on his neck. When he had made a trip to the little boys room, there were two obnoxious, air-headed jocks who teased him about it, calling it a Hickey.

Kurt obviously knew what a Hickey. Puckerman always wore it like an accessory, but it was odd that he had one. Who could have possibly sucked on his neck? It was preposterous, the simple notion of it. He chose to believe that he scratched himself last night, or again some very bad allergic reaction to something. Or maybe all this stress he is under with his father and school in itself- maybe he broke into the hives or something. But that was a small issue really. Nothing he would dwell about.

Right now, it was his favourite part of the day. He had been having a terrible morning, but now being in the safety and comfort of this run down garage he once thought to house delinquents who came back here to smoke weed, he felt at ease. It was not necessarily the fighting that kept his mind off of his worries, but it more stemmed from the friendly faces here. These people did not tease and made fun of him. They did joke about it, but not in the punishable way the rest of the school did. He was really starting to grow fond of the people in this little illegal after school club.

And then, of course, there was Lance. His confidant, his safety blanket, his crush. Despite Miss Pillsburys insistent attempt to convince Kurt that his feelings were simply one of a fresh friendship, he was clear he felt something more profound for the boy. Especially after his care and concern after that bonfire party. He has never met anyone who cared this much for him, and though he knew it could never lead much to a happily ever after of sorts, he was fine with simply crushing from afar.

Kurt sat on a wooden table that was pressed at the far corner of the small garage, his eyes never leaving the handsome boy as he went from student after student, correcting their trying moves. He looked good dressed in a simply two toned long sleeve and denim jeans that fit impeccably with his toned legs. He has been dressing considerably less flamboyant these few days. He missed the loud colours, but somehow this look suited him well- simple yet rugged. His biceps were especially one of his best traits. It looked even better when his sleeves stick to his body because every slightly movement he makes, his muscles protruded like lethal weapons.

Yes, this is what he has had to resort to. Staring at a boy he could never get- in a million years.

"Alright guys," announces Lance, his voice loud and precise. "Good work. I think were done for the day. Its almost dark outside already."

Kurt had not realize just how long they had been here. He remembered coming right after his last class ended, which of course was he boys class as well since they just coincidentally share all the same classes. Maybe that is why he clicked so well, because they share the same interest in choices of knowledge.

The members of Lances little after school club began to pour of the garage, bidding goodbyes and goodnight as they stepped out into the no doubt crisp cold outside. Kurt starts to load all of his things into his trusty satchel when the almost inaudible sound of a footstep right behind him halts him in his place. He swirls to find the boy, Lance, standing there wearing a disapproving pout.

"Youve been sitting there all day. You barely did anything here," says the boy. He sounds disappointed, which of course is a shot in the stomach for Kurt, though he could not hell but to blush at how adorable the boy looked with a pout.

"Im sorry. I just am tired I guess," says Kurt, wondering how he could articulate any words at all with the boy looking as handsome as he is with the faint glow of the single bulb hanging in the ceiling casting an almost angelic mist on him.

"Well, seeing as how Im the instructor or whatever higher authority youd like to call it, I cant permit your exit until Ive taught you something new," says the boy. A playful grin spreads across his lips. Truly, a smile only he came pull off.

Kurt debates this for awhile. He knew he should get back because no doubt his lately incompetent father is at home waiting. At least, he thinks. Who knows with his father these days. Oddly enough though, his father never mentioned a word at the fact that he came home drunk on that night of the party. He was anticipating one heated argument when his father roused from his slumber, but nothing came except a cold shoulder.

"Okay," surrenders Kurt and he drops his satchel and follows a superior looking Lance to the centre of the gymnastic mat placed in the central of the room.

"Im going to teach you how to break away from a headlock," tells the boy. Kurt had not the slightest clue as to what that was, and clearly his lack of understand registered in his face because the boy emits a laughter.

He steps forward and orders Kurt to turn around, his back towards the boy. It was unnerving not having a clear vision as to whatever the boy was doing, but soon his strong arms came around and encircled around his neck, choking him slightly. He had wanted to thrash out in fear, but the boy whispers words of comfort in his ear. That simple act could affect him. He knew the boy would never intentionally hurt him.

"Now, when someone has you in this hold, they have two options; snap your neck that will kill you instantly, or choke you to death. Either way it will end with your being deceased," says the boy. A static of fear courses down his spine at the simple though that ending a life was that simple. "What would be your first instinct?"

The boy was had dropped an octave. He clearly took his craft seriously, and he never well should. He spoke in such an intense intonation, so quiet and so frigid into Kurts ear, his not breath practically emitting in a puff of smoke that could around his earlobe and careered his eardrums. He felt the fine hairs on his arms taking attention.

"To wrestle my way free?" tries Kurt.

"Exactly, but youre not going to do that," says the boy. His voice is near and in the same way it embraced his eardrums. "What I would like you do is lean backwards, breathe, grasp around my arm and throw it forward."

"What?" says Kurt, needing to clarify what he thought was the invitation to flip the boy over him.

"You heard me," says the boy."

"I cant- flip you," says Kurt. The boy was clearly delusional. Aside from the fact that he had no physical stew the whatsoever to flip anyone in the air, he knew it would hurt the boy even if he succeeded.

"You can. It has less to do with strength, you just need to arch your back, push your hips back, lift me by an inch even and throw me sideways," instructs the boy. The way those words fleeted out of his mouth made it seem like the easiest thing in the world, but its not. Its the complete opposite even.

"Lance, I cant do that. I dont even know how," truthfully tells Kurt. He had rather be truthful than pretend to know, only to fumble and do something wrong and possibly injuring the boy.

"You can. Trust me," says the boy in the same hypnotic way. Kurt picture the scene in his head, depicting how it would look like from a third partys perspective. He vaguely remembers maybe seeing the same picture in maybe an action film, but vaguely nonetheless. "Okay, Ill guide you."

With the boys free hand, he takes both of Kurts limbs and coils his fingers so Kurts latched to his skin. He was warm, Kurt could feel it with the very tip of his fingers. His words are caring and instructive, nothing of which would compare to how menacing Coach Bieste would sound. His words were more on a gentle side. That free hand of his travels down and rest of Kurts hip. He flinched for a slight second. No one ever touched that part of him, but for some reason he wanted that hand to stay there forever like warm blanket on Christmas day.

"Push your hips back," whispers the boy, a voice so low and unwavering it seeped into his ears and travel alone the clear route down his spine. That hand of his gently pulls his hips backwards, and though he knew he should have clear thoughts on anything remotely sexual, he could not help but to feel the boys sharp zipper on his buttocks. The sensation making him blush.

"Now, pull me over," says the boy. "Breathe in, and pull me over."

With the words of encouragement fuelling his deep as an abyss doubt, he takes a gulp full of oxygen and musters all the strength he has in his weak body and pulls the boys arm with all his might. He had his eyes shut but when he hears the silent shriek before a loud thud follows, he comes to his senses and opens his eyes to find the boy, on the ground flat on his back, a smile on his face.

"Next time, remind me not to believe your pretence," laughs the boy.

"I wasnt- Im sorry," says Kurt as he falls to his knees next to the boy whom seems to find this laughable. He wears a bright smile that could obliterate any form of sadness in the world, his eyes shut and he allows whatever he found funny to fill his insides.

The falls flutters open than, eyelashes as long as an eagles wing span. Its as if time slows down whenever he blinks. Those eyelashes so prominently flaps, almost seductively even. His eyes are one that resembles the shimmery gold in the sky on a sunset by the beach. It is absolutely breath taking, and though Kurt knew he was staring, something in the moment told him the boy was okay with it- because he was staring right back. Like the ocean reflected the sun rays, their eyes reflected each other in a locked gaze.

Something happens in the next few seconds then he could not comprehend, nor could he stop it. He feels the strong hand that was just seconds ago taking residence on his hip slowly rose to carefully caress the side of his cheek. It was warm, and though he knew he should jerk away, he did the opposite and leaned into it instead- eyes never leaving each other. Nothing in this moment made sense, but it felt familiar more than anything.

The boy lifts up, gradually covering the bear space between them, inching closer in proximity. Its as if those eyes had taken him somewhere. Somewhere far away where the sun was sinking to the horizon, painting the sky with a shimmering orange. Its as if he was in the stance on a rock somewhere by a beach, watching the scene unfold before him.

Before the sunset sinks, and the warmth unfolds on his lip.