1.

Blaine Anderson entered the NYADA ballroom fashionably late, pushing the double doors open and stepping into the crowded room like he owned it. From the reactions of the people closest to the entrance, he just as well might.

There were smiles and stares around him from the moment he entered the room. People were coming up to talk to him, to exchange insubstantial chitchat about the summer and this year's classes – anything to be seen in his company, part of the popular crowd. Of course, there were the usual glares directed his way, too – disgruntled one-time lovers, mostly. Oh well, Blaine couldn't help that. He was always very clear about the fact that he didn't do relationships. And yet, time and again there were people who hoped they would be the one to change that.

It was their problem, not his.

He made his way around the large room, chatting with people while keeping his eye out for the fresh meat. It was the traditional September mixer at NYADA, after all, the perfect place to see what eye candy was admitted this year. Everyone was here. And yes, last year Blaine himself had been among the shy freshmen looking around with wide eyes. Which only showed how much could change within a year. He much preferred this year's position.

He only hoped there were some interesting new guys here – or at least hot ones, if interesting was too much to wish for. After the summer spent back home in Ohio, he could really use some good sex, STAT. There had been Sebastian, of course, and they'd hooked up twice for old times' sake, but Bastian had gone back to France almost a month ago. Ever since then, Blaine's sex life had been non-existent, and that was unacceptable.

He'd been sure coming back to New York would solve the problem, but it looked like all of his semi-regular hook-ups – those drama-free, no-strings-attached kind of guys he liked best – had either graduated or were in relationships all of a sudden. Blaine had gone through pretty much all of the attractive gay and bi-curious guys at school last year, and for one reason or another, he didn't feel like a repeat performance with any of them. He was starting to feel suffocated here. If he didn't find anyone interesting among the new students tonight, he might just have to go to a gay bar after all, despite all the hassle it required. He was getting that desperate.

There was no alcohol allowed at the dance, so it was with a cup of Coke in his hand that Blaine made his rounds, the familiar thrill of attention buzzing in his blood. He'd missed it.

The new faces he saw as he mingled were not a promising bunch. Most of the freshmen this semester were girls, and Blaine didn't have a single bisexual bone in his body, so that didn't help. The few new boys he saw were either completely not his type, or hopelessly straight by the looks of it. Not that he'd never seduced a seemingly straight guy, but he wasn't up for a lengthy game tonight. He needed to get laid, simple as that.

Blaine was almost out of hope when he saw him, standing alone out to the side, a vision in ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­skin-tight pants stretched over miles of long legs. He was gorgeous – tall and graceful, with an elfin face but strong jaw, chestnut hair perfectly styled. The mixer was a semi-formal dress occasion, and the guy made simple black pants and a dress shirt with gray waistcoat look like he'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine. Or maybe it was the way he accessorized with a bowtie and white Doc Martens. Either way, he looked stunning.  

That was it. Exactly what Blaine needed. He put aside his cup, checked if the sleeves of his black button-up were rolled up evenly (of course they were) and popped open the top button. The boy would be his before the night was over.

*

“Whoa.” Blaine didn't even have to play it up too much. The guy really was breathtaking, even more so from up close. “Please tell me you're a model.”

“Excuse me?” Gorgeous Freshman looked at him startled, his eyes wide and blue. Or grey. Green, maybe? It was hard to say in the muted light.

“You definitely look like one,” Blaine continued, letting himself check the boy out subtly. “So which designer do you work for?” 

“Oh, no. I'm not a model.” Mouthwatering Guy seemed amused by the concept.

“That's a shame. Such a gorgeous man should be seen and admired by the crowds.” Blaine extended his hand. “I'm sorry. Blaine Anderson. Sophomore.”

The boy took it lightly. “Kurt Hummel. I'm new here.”

Blaine grinned. “Oh, I know. I would have definitely noticed you before if you weren't.”

The boy just looked down and even in the dimmed light of the ballroom Blaine could see he was blushing. Honest to god blushing. Adorable.

“So how do you like it at NYADA so far?” Blaine asked.

Kurt looked up with a broad smile, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, I love it! Except for maybe–” He bit his lip. Delectable.

“What?” Blaine prompted, pulling his eyes away with difficulty.

“The dance class.”

Blaine nodded with understanding. “Ah, Cassandra. The horror of the freshmen.” Well, not his. He'd been Cassie's favorite since day one.

“Just freshmen?” Kurt asked hopefully.

“She gets nicer the longer you take her class,” Blaine assured him. “And the better you get.”

Kurt sighed dramatically. “Then I guess I will suffer until I graduate.”

“Oh come on, you can't be that bad.” Blaine chuckled. The song was changing, something slow and sweet coming on, and Blaine seized the opportunity. He grinned and took Kurt's hand. “In fact, why don't you show me?”

He pulled Kurt to the large circular dance floor and the boy went easily, pliant and stunned-looking. Blaine gathered him close, sliding his arms around Kurt's trim waist. Kurt seemed frozen for a moment, stiff in his embrace. Then his hands were on Blaine's shoulders, so light they were barely there. His spine was ramrod straight as he followed Blaine's lead and began to sway to the music.

It took a moment, but Blaine could feel him relax bit by bit, settling into his body and the rhythm of the song. He pulled him a little closer, their chests touching, and Kurt finally slid his arms around his neck.

“From what I can tell, you're not a bad dancer at all,” Blaine murmured into his ear.

Kurt smiled, the blush back on his cheeks. “This isn't exactly the kind of dancing Miss July requires though, is it? Unless you're on a different curriculum.”

“Well no, but I can already tell you're graceful on your feet – not that I ever doubted it from the moment I saw you. I bet you're flexible, too.” He winked, coming on a little stronger now. Kurt burst out a short laugh.

“Well I do like my yoga,” he said, peeking up at him bashfully under dark eyelashes.

Oh, this was going to be delightful.

*

They were sitting at a table ten minutes later, drinking punch – NYADA's signature recipe with edible glitter but no alcohol – when Rachel Berry flew by their table and then backtracked, staring between them.

“Oh my god, no,” she said firmly, and Blaine bristled.

“Go away.”

She wasn't looking at him, though. She was facing Kurt, a dramatically concerned frown on her face.

“Oh no, Kurt, please don't. Why are you talking to NYADA's resident gay slut? He'll just seduce you and then leave you. This is not what you want, honey,” she said, sickly sweet. Kurt gave Blaine a surprised, intrigued look, but then turned back to her.

“We're just talking. You told me I need to make friends, remember?”

“Well yes, but not with him,” she said with such a dose of distaste that Blaine couldn't resist.

He smirked at her.

“Oh, this is not what you said last year, when you were trying to convince me what a perfect couple we'd make. What was it? Keeping with each other vocally and having vaguely Eurasian children?”

She colored and huffed before turning her back to him completely. “Kurt, really–”

“I'll be fine, Rachel,” Kurt said calmly. “I'm not a baby. Go have fun.”

Rachel's boyfriend appeared at her side to steal her away and she went at last, still casting worried glances over her shoulder until they were gone in the crowd.

“So you know Rachel Berry,” Blaine said, surprised. The school's top diva didn't usually grace new students with her precious attention.

“We went to the same high school. Had some classes together.” Kurt smiled and rolled his eyes. “I thought college would change her but nope, not one bit.”

Blaine frowned, confused. “Wait, you had classes together? But she's a junior. She's older than me.”

“So am I.” Kurt shrugged. “I'm twenty. I lost a year in high school, for personal reasons, and then I took a year off to do community theater full time. And now I'm here.”

“Wow. May I ask–?”

Kurt shook his head, his smile fading. “Maybe some other time. Now, tell me about you. Where are you from?”

So Blaine told him – about Dalton and leading the Warblers for three years straight, about winning Glee competitions and falling in love with New York during Nationals his sophomore year. About his lifelong dream of being a performer and his bold NYADA audition choice that dazzled Carmen Tibideaux when everyone said it would appall her. About being the first freshman in a decade to be invited to perform at the Winter Showcase last year, and coming in a close second to Rachel Berry.

And then he realized that he'd been talking about himself for a really long time now. The party was in full swing around them, the smuggled in alcohol bringing out the louder, bolder sides in people.

“Whoa. Sorry, I guess I took a trip down the memory lane there,” Blaine said, slightly flustered. At least Kurt didn't look bored. “Do you want to get out of here, go somewhere more private? It's getting kind of hot.”

“Sure.” Kurt stood up and Blaine was suddenly reminded why he started to talk to him in the first place. The way those pants were hugging his ass was criminal.

“So, your place or mine?” he asked as they made their way to the door, his hand resting lightly on Kurt's back.

Kurt stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Oh. I thought– Um. No. Sorry Blaine, but I'm not– Thank you, but no.” He was blushing hard, and Blaine stroked his fingers down one pink cheek.

“Am I not your type?” he asked softly.

Kurt shook his head. “That's not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“It's just…” Kurt hesitated, but then blurted out quickly, so quietly Blaine wouldn't hear him if he wasn't so close. “I've never even been kissed.”

Okay, he must have misunderstood. He stared at Kurt dumbstruck – this stunning boy, man really, at twenty, and no one had ever– Nothing? Not even a kiss? How was that possible?

Kurt was watching him, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction. His face fell as the silence prolonged, but it was just a glimpse. A moment later, Kurt's chin was up and his smile in place, plastered there with barely visible effort. “I'll just go to my dorm. Goodnight, Blaine. Thank you for the dance.”

And then he was gone, leaving Blaine with his mouth open in the middle of the ballroom.