“Mm, you like that?”

Kurt freezes. He hears a very audible moan coming from around the corner about 5 yards in front of him. Kurt frantically whips his head around, checking for anyone else that might be coming this way. The hallway is deserted. He hears a louder moan and then that voice again from the same location.

“Yeah, give it up, baby. Wanna see you come for me.”

The moans and encouragements only become more frequent, and Kurt is still cemented to the floor, not believing what he’s hearing. Suddenly he hears one more prolonged groan, the loudest yet, and barely catches the murmured, “Fuck yeah, baby, you’re so good for me.”

Kurt hears the zip of a fly and the clanging of a belt buckle, and then silence for a moment, before the voice, agitated, utters, “I said fifty, Buxton.”

There’s a sigh, more quiet, then a muttered “that’s more like it,” followed by footsteps.

Kurt has the sense to press himself as close to the wall as possible, hoping not to be caught unintentionally eavesdropping, as he catches a glimpse of two Dalton blazers stepping out further into the hall; Kurt guesses it was some sort of alcove they were inside. He gets a glance of them from behind, one tallish, with blonde tousled hair (Kurt deduces from the activities he just overheard), and the other shorter, with dark hair which was slicked down within an inch of its life.

“Oh, honey, ease up on the hair gel.” Kurt can’t help but think.

He’s pulled from his mental critique when the shorter boy clutches the other boy’s tie, dragging him down into a lip-smashing kiss. Upon breaking it, the shorter boy croons, “One for the road, big boy,” before shoving the boy stumbling off in the opposite direction of Kurt and watching him disappear around the next corner.

The dark haired boy then runs a hand down both sides of his kempt hair, straightens his blazer and his pants, and turns around, eyes darting right to Kurt pressed up against the wall.

The boy smirks, advancing on Kurt.

“There’s a thirty dollar spectator’s fee.”

Kurt stammers. Before he realizes it, the shorter boy is inches away from him. Despite the other boy being a couple inches shorter, Kurt can feel the boy’s breath wash over his face.

The boy’s honey eyes glance down at the map clutched in Kurt’s hand. Smirk still in place, the boy tugs it out of Kurt’s hand, giving the paper a once-over.

“A little lost, new kid? I could show you around, if you want. The first stop on the Blaine Anderson Official Tour is my bedroom.”

“I—I don’t—” Kurt attempts, but the other boy (Blaine?) plows on, clearly rehearsed in the business of persuasion and, although Kurt has never been on the receiving end of it before now, seduction.

“Now, I usually charge for this kind of thing, though I always give a discount for first-time customers. Only fifteen dollars,” Kurt shudders as the boy’s mouth glides past his cheek, breath hitting directly at his ear, feeling the tip of his nose graze the shell of it, his voice oozing with lust, “But for virgins, I’m free.”

Kurt swallows, mind racing. “Get out of here get out of here get away from him you idiot.” Instead what comes out of his mouth is a voice much higher pitched than it should be.

“F-free?”

Blaine chuckles, pulling away from Kurt’s ear, tilting his head up slightly to look into Kurt’s eyes.

“Well, if you want to look at it this way, you pay me with your virginity,” Blaine pauses a moment, before fixing Kurt with a downright hungry, animalistic gaze,

“And by virginity I don’t mean a fucking handjob.”

“Look, I really—”

“By virginity I mean my cock pounding so fucking hard into your tight little virgin ass that you literally scream for more. Harder. Faster. Fuck, Blaine I want your enormous cock fucking the shit out of me for the rest of eternity.”

Through his subtle shaking, Kurt can feel Blaine’s hand sliding down the back of his underwear, his finger tracing down between his asscheeks, and for the life of him, he can’t make himself utter a single word against the action, even as both Blaine’s words and his finger continue their respective treks.

“When I fuck virgins, I don’t do half-assed,” Blaine elaborated, “Once I’m through with you, you’ll feel like you just had a fucking religious experience. You’ll be worshiping my dick. Lucky for you, this god believes in thanking his worshippers very,” Blaine’s finger pressed dryly against his entrance with every repetition, drawing whimpers from Kurt, “very, very thoroughly.”

Slowly, Blaine slides his hand out of Kurt’s underwear, and immediately plunges the probing finger into his own mouth, sucking and moaning around the digit, his eyes falling closed upon experiencing Kurt’s taste on his tongue.

Kurt stares, transfixed at the action, somehow feeling like he’d already been fucked, simply by Blaine’s performance.

In his distraction, Kurt felt himself being tugged away from his wall by his belt loops and then something being pressed into his front pocket—the map. Suddenly Blaine’s mouth was at his ear again, but this time from behind, where Blaine was now pressing himself into Kurt’s back.

Kurt allowed himself to be gently propelled forward, with Blaine following close after, murmuring with the teasing tip of his tongue tracing Kurt’s ear,

“Come on. I know a shortcut.”