Kurt had been right; Blaine had no trouble finding him at all. The next morning at work he plucked his copy of Vogue which he had-oh so twist-of-fatedly-been scanning when Kurt had stepped into the boutique from underneath the front desk. Then he began searching. Page by page, he perused the names of the pages until he spied the name he was looking for.

Page 125 is where he spots him. And again on 126. And 127.

Beautiful models posing in fantastical clothing, spectacular and impressive as it always is in Vogue. The pages in question highlight a line of coordinated scarves and stockings. And off to the side, in the caption revealing the designers of certain articles of modeled clothing is his man. Fashion Editor: Kurt Hummel.

Well, shit. Go figure the guy is married. He's probably loaded. Loaded and gorgeous and prolific.

With this little tidbit of information, he does some serious googling. His search gives him the answers he desires.

His husband's name is Craig Bennit. And they've apparently been married for seven years.

Seven. Fucking. Years.

It really doesn't help that the couple is fucking stunning, front-cover material together. He'd noted how handsome the man had been when he bumped into him for those few moments at the elevator, but the thought of both of those beautiful men being married to each other...Yeah, it's no brain teaser.

An article he finds is several years old, but it's...god it's absolutely laughable. "He's the leather loafers to my silk scarf. He's perfect," Hummel says of his husband of now two years. "We're so happy together; I wouldn't trade him for anything!"

Blaine scoffs aloud in the empty store. Yeah, you wouldn't trade him for anything...except the first twenty-something that throws himself at you...

Blaine exits out of the window with disgust, tossing his copy of Vogue into the trash under the front desk. An involuntary full-body shudder racks through him as his brain lingers once more on the fact that he slept with a married man. A man who had been oh-so-happy with his husband mere years ago. Or was he even happy then? Was it all for show?

Blaine got his basic information from the internet, but now he needs much more in-depth answers. After all, Kurt had said to call him up at Vogue. Blaine can't live with this on his conscience much longer, and he's off in a little bit anyway. He supposes he'll make a little visit to Mr. Hummel, Vogue Fashion Editor.

***

"Excuse me. I'm here to see Mr. Kurt Hummel?"

The receptionist is a beautiful, debonair Asian woman, donning a dark, sleek braid off to the side of her head, and a headset. Her voice comes off dignified mixed with a little boredom at Blaine's transparent banality-which Blaine expects. This is fucking Vogue headquarters. "Do you have an appointment?"

Blaine scratches at the back of his head self-consciously, ducking his head. He's unable to keep from scrutinizing his own clothes, a bright polo with a bowtie and high-risers. He may be dressed alright, but it's not Vogue-standard-anybody in this building could tell from a mile away that he wasn't in designer clothing. "I don't, no. But he told me to come track him down? Could you maybe just...page him? Tell him Blaine Anderson is-?"

"Mr. Hummel doesn't speak without an appointment. Maybe if you schedule one, he will find time in his incredibly busy schedule for someone as..." she pauses, looking him up and down before smirking condescendingly, "charming as you."

Before Blaine catches himself, he mumbles out, "Seemed to have plenty of time for me last night..."

The receptionist gives a disbelieving hah in response. "Yeah, I'm so sure, little dreamer. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you aren't going to make an appointment."

"I shouldn't need an appointment! Why can't you just page him?"

The woman raises a critical eyebrow at him. "Mr. Hummel is in a very important meeting at the moment. He did not leave a message with me to send anyone to see him. You could be an insane stalker for all I know, and I will not get my ass chopped off because you have a teenage infatuation. Now, I hope you have a nice day. Please leave before I have to call security."

Blaine heaves a sigh, giving the receptionist one more begging look, received with an expression of stone, before resigning. He turns to leave, but only gets a few steps forward before he hears that laugh, loud and clear. He twirls back around, and there Kurt is, crossing behind the front desk with several glamorous co-workers, chatting and laughing jovially as they go.

Blaine doesn't think, just calls out, "Kurt!"

Kurt's head jerks toward Blaine, his bright smile instantly wilting into horror the moment he registers who he is. His eyes bulge slightly as he freezes where he stands. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Blaine flounders. "I...You..."

The receptionist stands abruptly, glaring at Blaine. "I told you to leave, sir. And you will leave."

"Kurt, I need to talk to you." Blaine insists, stepping forward.

Kurt tugs at his lip with his teeth, propping his hand on his hip. "Bl-...Look, we can't do this. I told you to call, not to come here!" Kurt stumbles over Blaine's name, and it's not difficult to understand why. He doesn't want anyone to know Blaine's name, the boy he had an affair with. From the way the receptionist had laughed off Blaine's insinuations earlier, it's clear that nobody suspects that Kurt is unfaithful in his marriage.

Blaine gets a little more aggressive this time. "We. Need. To. Talk. You owe it to me."

Kurt's eyes skitter around, his hand fluffing his hair in what seems to be a nervous tick. "Ok, fuck, okay. Jesus, just...fine." He turns his attention to the receptionist who is getting increasingly more irritated at Blaine's persistence. "Tabitha, hold my calls for the next while, please."

"But Mr. Hummel-"

"Thank you, Tabitha," Kurt presses authoritatively, and she sighs and nods, flopping dejectedly back into her chair. He turns his eyes back to Blaine. "You. Come on." Blaine scurries to follow Kurt, who blazes a trail ahead of his coworkers, straight to his office.

And god, his office is nice. He knew he was about a dozen stories high, since he had to take the elevator just to get to the proper desk to inquire after Kurt. The windows overlook the city, the desk situated in front of them is cherry oak, directly opposite the heavy door that falls closed and locks behind them. Kurt snaps the blinds shut on the internal windows that look into the rest of the office and staggers behind his desk to collapse into his expensive-looking wheeled chair.

"Ok look Blaine; I just got out of a five-fucking-hour long meeting with a dozen obnoxious reps, so this better be fast. You've already set me off enough just showing up here so fucking casually. So please tell me what you want and get out."

Blaine just stands there for a few seconds, staring at Kurt from the center of the lavish office. "Kurt...do you really not know why I'm here?"

Kurt shrugs. "You're upset that I kicked you out so brusquely? Not exactly material to fuel barging in on me at work-"

"You're married, Kurt!"

Kurt blinks. He thinks he sees Kurt's lower lip quiver for the barest of moments. "How did you know that?"

Blaine's feet lead him forward, until he's leaning on the opposite side of Kurt's desk, palms digging into the edge. "Because I ran into your husband in the elevator, Mr. Hummel," Blaine mocks. "So cute that he still calls you his 'sexy little husband', isn't it? Must love you a whole goddamn lot...Craig, is it? Craig just seems like the sweetest."

Kurt sits upright in his chair, glaring back at Blaine. "You don't know shit, honey. Don't pretend that you do because you know how to read articles on the internet. You don't know me and you don't know our relationship. So you can shut the fuck up with your assumptions or get the fuck out of my office and never come back. You're a child, Blaine. Me fucking you did not make you a man."

"Oh, but cheating on your husband with a 'child' makes you a man? Fucking someone years younger than you strengthens your marriage, hmm?"

"What did I just say about making assumptions, Blaine?"

"How could you not tell me, Kurt?" Blaine says, trying to keep his voice down, because Kurt is right; Blaine really doesn't know much about anything, and that is why he came to talk to Kurt in the first place. "How is that fair to me? You made me your 'other woman' and I didn't even know it! You pulled me into this when I didn't even know what I was signing up for."

"I couldn't risk it, Blaine!" Kurt counters, leaning forward. "We did it once! That hardly constitutes an affair. An affair is an agreement of both parties, Blaine. Read a book..."

"That isn't the point. You made me think you were single. And...god you're married, Kurt!" Blaine flings himself off the desk and beings to pace wildly; running his fingers through his hair as the gravity of it all just falls onto his shoulders.

"Blaine, I'm sorry." The words come as a surprise, and Blaine's attention goes to Kurt once again, wrenching his hands from his hair. Kurt looks repentant, his fingers picking at the wood of his desk. "You're right, I should have told you. But now you know."

Now Blaine "knows?" What is that supposed to mean? Blaine isn't positive, but he thinks that Kurt is implying that he might want to do this again. That the little rendezvous between them might be more than an adulterous fling. That thought alone terrifies Blaine. He has no idea if he'd actually want to help Kurt to cheat on his husband. Now that he knows, it feels like a betrayal to Kurt's husband. Then again, Blaine doesn't even know Kurt's husband. Blaine knows Kurt-well, knows his body, and certainly knows him as a person better than he knows Craig-so what does Blaine owe Kurt's husband? The truth, Blaine's mind supplies. Isn't that what you would want if your husband was cheating on you?

Blaine is so confused. Torn in two. He doesn't know what he should do. All he knows is that he liked being with Kurt. Liked being fucked by him. He still likes being around him. But now Blaine is mentally jumping the gun; he doesn't even know if Kurt is interested in Blaine as a person anymore, let alone interested in sleeping with him again.

"Kurt, do you...really intend to keep this up? I mean...I'm not the first one you've..."

"You are. You're the first," Kurt admits. This shocks Blaine. He's actually the first that Kurt has been with? He's not tenth in a long string of lovers over the past several years? "And I don't know if I want...god, I liked what we did, Blaine. I really did," He shares, looking up at Blaine earnestly. "I shouldn't have, but I did. I really liked it."

Something a lot like arousal burns hot in Blaine's stomach at Kurt's confession. "Yeah?" Blaine asks, intrigue creeping into the word.

Kurt's smile is almost shy as he nods. "Yes. You were amazing, Blaine. And I'd...I'd want it again, I can't lie. I'd want you again."

There it is. And Blaine still has no fucking idea what to do with it. "Kurt...I don't know..."

"Blaine...Sit." He suggests, gesturing to the seat across from him. Blaine accepts the offer, pulling the chair out and plopping down into it. Kurt prefaces his words with a sigh, folding his hands atop his desk and looking straight at Blaine. "My marriage is not healthy for me. You may have heard something different...hell, even Craig would say differently. But I am not happy. What Craig and I have is...it's spoiled, Blaine. That's the short and tall of it. And I need an escape or else I'll go ape shit."

Blaine's eyes narrow quizzically. "Then why don't you get a divorce?"

"I already told you, Blaine. Craig doesn't see anything wrong with us. Why would a divorce be necessary if there isn't a problem, right?" Kurt laughs hollowly, staring distantly to his right, before blinking and fixing his eyes back on Blaine.

"And you think that sleeping with someone else is going to change all that?"

Kurt shrugs one shoulder, leaning back in his chair. "Sure as hell seemed to work yesterday before Craig came home and fucked it up."

"But Kurt, Craig is always going to be there to 'fuck it up' until you end it. Temporary happiness doesn't last. That's why it's called 'temporary'."

The look on Kurt's face is a dark kind of amusement. "Yes, but at least it's something. Temporary is better than never."

Blaine's eyebrows furrow in concern, shifting his weight onto his forearms as he rests them on the desk. "Are you really that unhappy, Kurt?"

Kurt stares bluntly back. "You have no idea, Blaine. No fucking idea."

Blaine bites his lip in thought, eyes flickering over the papers and designs and spreads littering Kurt's desk. As much as Blaine doesn't want to be an accessory to cheating...it's Kurt. Kurt is older and sexy and he wants him. And Blaine's horniness and desire to live out his kinks are biased. So, so biased. "It would be so dangerous, Kurt. If we were to pursue this, there would be so many risks."

"You liked being with me, didn't you?" Kurt asks.

"Of course I did," Blaine assures, cupping a hand over Kurt's folded ones. "It was amazing. You're amazing."

A shadow of a smile plays on Kurt's lips. "So, what do you say? Will you indulge me? Can we...make this a thing?"

"You mean an-an affair? Like, a real affair? You want me to be your lover?" The thought has a smile tugging at Blaine's mouth. There's excitement. There's anxiety too, but so much thrill in it as well.

Kurt looks incredibly amused, smiling all the way to his eyes and pressing a knuckle to his mouth before speaking. "Yes, Blaine. You'd be my lover. How does that sound?"

"Scandalous! It's so Me and Mrs. Jones..." Blaine chuckles briefly.

Kurt turns his palms upward in a broad gesture. "Just call me Mr. Jones." He finishes it off with a wink.

Blaine bites his lip again, standing up to bend over the desk, closer to Kurt. To hell with inhibitions. "May I kiss my official Mr. Jones, then?"

Kurt scrunches up his nose with a smile, leaning upwards to press their lips together. It's warm and wonderful and so taboo that it makes Blaine's cock stir. He hums into it happily, breaking it off only when he can't keep the grin off his face, but still keeping their foreheads pressed together.

"This is really fucking hot," Blaine confesses with a breathy laugh, pulling a laugh from Kurt in return.

"Yeah, just a little," Kurt mutters before sucking Blaine's lips in between his once more, this time tickling his tongue along the seam of them. It takes less than a second for Blaine to part them for Kurt to enter, and even less time for Blaine to throw all reservations he may have had mere moments before out the window, and hurtle headfirst into Kurt. His...his lover.

His own personal Mrs. Jones.

***

They might have gotten a little caught up. And by "a little" they mean a lot. Blaine isn't sure how he ended up straddling Kurt in his office chair with soft hands scrubbing up and down the skin of his back where Kurt had rucked up his shirt. He has no clue when his bowtie came undone, or the buttons of his polo, or when they started dry-humping through their pants, letting out quiet noises of pleasure that drown between their latched mouths.

This is definitely the riskiest thing that Blaine has done, and second place is miles behind in the bathroom stall of a New York gay club. Kurt is just as delicious as he'd been last night, possibly more with the added fact that what they're doing is forbidden. Each roll of his hips is that much sexier; each flick of his tongue is that much dirtier.

It's wrong. It's inappropriate. It shouldn't be happening.

But god, it is, and it feels so good.

The words rolling around in Blaine's mind finally manifest themselves into audible words as Kurt is sucking wet kisses down his neck. "You should fuck me. Here in your office. Just to celebrate."

Kurt's teeth nip at his skin hard at the suggestion, pulling a dangerously loud gasp from Blaine. "Would you like that? Knowing someone could knock on that door any second? We've already been in here ages and the longer we stay, the more of a threat it is."

Blaine tips his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and allows Kurt to take. "Then you better do it fast, hadn't you?"

Kurt growls, lurching Blaine off his lap and then bending him face-first over the desk in one swift movement. His breath is hot at Blaine's ear, tongue tracing erotic patterns along it as he massages Blaine's ass through his pants. "You want me to fuck your tight, pretty little ass in my office? I've fucked Craig in here plenty of times, you know. Do you think you can compete?"

Blaine really doesn't want to hear about Craig right now, but he is pretty sure this is going to be a part of the deal. Besides, being a better fuck than Kurt's own husband is an unbelievably desirable concept. "God, I know I can. I'll be so much better than him, come on." He thrusts his ass back into Kurt's hands, urging.

"You're lucky I keep supplies in my drawer for such occasions or you'd just have to suck me off from under my desk or something..."

"That can be arranged for another time. But right now I just need you to fuck my ass. Please."

Kurt hums in his ear and begins working on Blaine's pants until they drop around his ankles with his underwear. "Open up those legs, baby, as far as you can."

Blaine whimpers, parting his feet until his pants restrict him from spreading any further. Kurt jerks one of his drawers open, rifling around until he comes up with supplies and immediately squirts some lube onto his hand from the small bottle. Cool fingers start at the top of his ass, dragging slowly between his cheeks before they reach Blaine's clenching hole.

"Can you take two, honey?"

"God, yes. Fast, do it fast. I can take it." Two fingers breach his entrance and he has to bite into his bicep to keep from crying out. A keening noise makes its way out as Kurt starts to thrust his fingers all the way in and back out again, stretching him. Kurt's other hand grips one cheek firmly and tugs it aside, making the slide a little easier.

"You just suck these right up, don't you baby? You're so eager for me. You want three?"

"Yes," Blaine sobs quietly, working his ass back onto Kurt's fingers. "Give me three."

Kurt obeys, re-lubing and adding a third finger, and it's not long until he's begging for more-begging for cock. Kurt bites Blaine's earlobe as he pulls his fingers out to pull himself out of his pants and wrangle on a condom. His cock feels unfathomably large pressed against his small hole, but god he wants. And for such a tiny passage Blaine lets him inside easy, almost embarrassingly easy. Kurt grunts in his ear as he pushes in for the first time, stretching around Blaine's ass so fucking beautifully. It feels so amazing that he wishes he could see it; it's then he remembers that there is a video waiting for him on his iPhone that he has yet to watch of this very thing. The thought makes him moan.

"You like this, baby? Like being filled by my cock?"

Blaine whines out an affirmation, bracing himself against the desk when Kurt's thrusts pick up. The reality hits him that he is actually having office sex. He's being fucked over a desk by an older man who is married and wants to get his rocks off in a younger specimen.

He's living in a fucking porno, and Blaine has never been happier.

Kurt's hips slap mutedly against his ass, and Blaine's hips subsequently smack against the edge of the desk. The bite of the wood against his bare skin feels so erotic, so sexy, and so good. He has to remember to bite his tongue-literally sometimes-to keep from yelling out and giving them away to the rest of the office. Blaine is positive that this isn't the only office that has withheld sexual interaction behind closed doors-it's Vogue after all. Tons of beautiful people skirting around other beautiful people. But the fact that Blaine is contributing to that count...god he really could scream if he dared.

Without warning, Kurt is hauling Blaine back against his chest, upright, and guiding him around. Blaine isn't quite sure what he's doing until-oh. The cool press of the window is at his cheek and the naked skin of his hip. Kurt thrusts up and Blaine grunts as quietly as he can. His breath fogs up the window in billows as he stares down at the small cars and pedestrians below on the streets. God, any one of them could look up and see him getting fucked, see him taking it from a prolific, married fashion editor of famous Vogue magazine, and it turns him on so much.

Every fucking of Kurt's cock into his ass sends a hot spark up his spine, every filthy word Kurt mutters in his ear is a secret that can never be told.

"You love this, huh? Getting fucked against the window where anyone could see?"

"Yes, Kurt, please. God, fuck me," He moans out, the clouding of his breath growing so wide on the glass that everything he sees is distorted with it. Kurt's hips slam upwards inside him, and Blaine's hands streak the windows with sweat, dragging down, scratching for purchase where there's nothing to hold. Heat builds in his stomach, tugs at his balls, and he whines, "Kurt, fuck, I'm gonna come. Gonna come so hard, please."

Kurt yanks his hips away from the window, his ass sticking out profusely while his face remains pressed against the glass, and Kurt resumes fucking. His soft hand wraps tight around Blaine's cock as his hips crash into him over and over until Blaine can't take it and he comes. His vision blurs and his body vibrates with the force of it as Kurt continues to get himself off in his ass. Kurt grunts out his release a couple minutes after Blaine's own, stilling inside of him as he fills the condom. Kurt comes down quickly, extracting himself from Blaine as well as the condom from his dick before tying it up, wrapping it in a tissue, and tossing it in the trash.

Kurt stumbles back against his desk, leaning heavily on it as he stares at Blaine with glazed eyes. "God I love office fucking..."

Blaine chuckles, his face still on fire from the heavy exertion as he pulls up his pants. He saunters over to Kurt, working his spent cock back into his own pants blindly as he kisses Kurt for all he's worth. He uses the kiss as a distraction, he knows, because if he has to actually look at Kurt's cock while he tries to put it away, he knows he won't want to hide it from daylight again. Unless it's buried in his ass again. "You're really good at it," He whispers against Kurt's lips.

Kurt hums contentedly. "So are you."

"Better than Craig?" Blaine teases, licking playfully at Kurt's closed lips. Kurt snaps his teeth just as friskily after Blaine's tongue as soon as he retracts it. Kurt's hands wrap tightly around Blaine's waist with a bright smile.

"God, so much better."

"Good."

Kurt helps Blaine to become presentable again, loaning him some gel he has stored in his desk for emergencies to style his fucked up sex hair. "Now get out of here," Kurt says, swatting at Blaine's ass.

Blaine squeaks and jumps at the action, his ass still tender from the rough fucking it just received. "Can I at least get your number this time?"

Kurt grins, nodding, and holds his hand out for Blaine's phone. Kurt enters it swiftly, sending himself a text as well, and slips it back into Blaine's pocket. Before Blaine can leave, Kurt tugs him forward once more; their lips close enough to brush and threatening another kiss. But they don't press together. Kurt's voice is low and sexy when he speaks. "I still expect you to send me that video."

Blaine leaves the office a little dazed and a lot on cloud nine, with a throbbing ass and the promise of more. Very, very soon.