"You know, you didn't have to drop me off Kurt. Or...walk me off?" Blaine says, crinkling an eyebrow as he tries to come up with the proper name.

Kurt shrugs, knocking his shoulder against Blaine's as they arrive at his designated corner. "I just like staring at you in that outfit and knowing that everything beneath it is mine."

It's obvious that Kurt likes his outfit tonight, because he really has been checking Blaine out ever since he got dressed. The black fashion corset hugs along his waist and hips, stopping just below his pecks. His ass is clad in tight, spandex shorts, accompanying the silk of his corset with a matching shade of black. Blaine had gone the extra mile and snapped garters to his fishnet stockings that fall just shy of his shorts. The look is completed with his signature Doc Martins.

Kurt kept pinching his ass on the way over and making him jump with a yelp and a smile. Blaine always retaliated with a biting kiss to Kurt's lips and a muttered "I love you", which Kurt returned every time.

Blaine leans back against the familiar wall, resting the sole of his shoe flat against the worn brick of the abandoned building. He smirks at Kurt as his boyfriend drags his eyes over his body once more, lingering. "You gonna stand there all night and watch? Because I charge for that."

"God, you just look so good," Kurt says, a moan slipping into his voice. "Save some stamina for me tonight, yeah? I think I'm going to need to fuck you good and proper while you're still in that outfit."

"Mmm, my baby wants to fuck me in my work clothes, huh? That's kinky."

"You're wearing fishnets and a corset, B," Kurt whines, tugging at the base of the latter garment. "That isn't work clothes, it's sin. It's cruel."

"They're my work clothes, Sweets," Blaine corrects, pulling Kurt's hands from his corset. "And you know better than to touch the merchandise while I'm on the clock. Unless you're willing to pay."

Blaine absolutely adores playing with Kurt like this. Loves teasing him about the work Blaine does and showing Kurt just what he can't have until he comes home to him. And Kurt would never admit it, but Blaine knows that he loves it too. It's a foreign kind of scandalous that gets them both off.

But Kurt isn't having it as easily tonight. He regrips the hem of Blaine's corset and yanks, hauling Blaine against him and slamming into his chest with an audible oof. Kurt's lips shine from this close, his heart beats into Blaine's chest, and he is so fucking beautiful that Blaine still cannot believe he's his. "You're gonna have to start paying real fucking quick if you keep up that little smartass act of yours, you little slut."

Blaine swallows, blinking up at Kurt as he tries to take even breaths. Blaine loves it when Kurt gets possessive. "Yes, Sir."

Kurt hums in approval before smashing a kiss to Blaine's lips and releasing him entirely. Blaine stumbles back, a bit dazed, into the wall to lean against it once more. "I'll see you later tonight, baby. And remember what I said about what I'm going to do to you, because I don't go back on my words. Do I?"

Blaine shakes his head, a little too turned on to speak. Kurt blows him a final kiss before turning on his heel and heading back towards his apartment. He's out of sight in less than a minute.

God damn Blaine is lucky.

He's over half-way through his first cigarette of the night when he's approached for the first time.

And it blindsides him.

"So, the old ball-and-chain is letting you out to play, huh?"

"Sebastian...what are you doing here?" He hasn't lost his signature two-faced grin or his expensive tastes. He looks better than ever, actually, leaning right up on the wall beside Blaine-dangerously close, he thinks, far too close. Blaine's throat tightens, his hands clench and release, and he nearly cringes when Sebastian plucks the cigarette right from between his lips and slips it between his own for a strong drag. He blows it out right in Blaine's face.

Blaine cannot believe he once found that sexy.

Sebastian holds the cigarette back out to Blaine, but he simply stares down at it. He doesn't even want to touch it anymore. Sebastian shrugs, a "your loss" apparent in his face as he inhales again.

"Bas, I said what are you doing here?" Blaine repeats, a little more than irritated.

"And I asked how you got off for good behavior. What the hell are you still doing out here?"

"This never stopped, Sebastian. Kurt is fine with it. It's a job, he understands that. Now what the fuck are you doing here?"

"What am I always here for?" Sebastian announces, his words coming out muddled around the cigarette as he holds his hands out in a broad gesture.

"Bullshit. You haven't set foot here since I turned you down. It's been weeks since I've seen you, Bas. Don't try to play it cool, like nothing ever happened." Blaine is being snippy, and he's well aware. But Sebastian can't really expect to just return like this and get the welcome wagon.

Sebastian drops the butt to the pavement and grounds it out with his heel, letting the last wisp of smoke curl upwards into the night air. "Cool your jets, kid. I'm just looking for some ass. You are a hooker, aren't you?"

Blaine glares. "Fuck you, I am not a kid. You know that very well. And if you wanted ass there are a million and one places you could get it that are not this particular corner of New York."

"I want a fuck that I know is good, okay? You never know unless you've had them before, and we both know that you're the best."

Blaine raises his chin upwards, concentrating on the night sky. "Yes, we do. And we both also know that you and me is not an option anymore."

"I'm not asking for anything but a fuck, Blaine. Just a fuck. You know better than anyone what the term 'just a fuck' means. You know how worthless a fuck can be."

Blaine snaps his head downward to look at Sebastian. "It wouldn't be just a fuck, Sebastian, and you are perfectly aware of that fact. It would be more, no matter what we did. You can't erase history, Bas. What happened, happened. I turned you down, okay? I chose Kurt. And I'd choose him again and again and again. And while what we had was great for a long time, it's over. So you need to move on and find a new cherry ass to fuck."

Sebastian's wingtip shoe scuffs the ground hard as Blaine finishes, Sebastian staring down at it with resentment that Blaine knows is really for him. "Goddamnit, Blaine..."

Blaine sighs, pushing his curls back with his hand from his forehead and then propping it on his hip. "Sebastian, I'm sorry, but that's how it is. You're amazing and gorgeous and rich and experienced and the perfect man, for someone else. I found my perfect guy, and I'm keeping him. I'm not erasing you from my memory; you'll always be there. We had amazing fucks and some unforgettable times, but that's all it will ever be."

When Sebastian looks up at him...god, Blaine has never seen him so sad. "I hate him, Blaine. I'm never not going to hate that guy."

"I know."

"I think he's fucking scum and I don't think he treats you right and I think you could do so much better."

"I know you think that. And you're entitled to. But that doesn't change anything."

"I will always believe you should have chosen me."

"I know. Go home, Bas."

Sebastian nods, letting his gaze linger on Blaine for a moment before turning away and taking a few steps. But he stops and he turns back. He doesn't look at Blaine. He just crouches down, grabs the crushed cigarette butt from the pavement, and slips it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket before standing again and taking off once more.

Blaine watches him until he disappears around the next street corner, and he has the haunting feeling that was the last he'll ever see of Sebastian Smythe. Blaine isn't sure how he feels about it, but he knows it's for the best.

So he takes out another cigarette and starts to smoke away the memory of what just transpired.

"You look like you could use a brutal going over, baby."

Blaine's head jerks up to see a pristine burgundy Maserati pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolled down to reveal an older, stranger in the driver's seat. The man inside smiles, crow's feet branching from his eyes. He's certainly not much to look at, but Blaine finds that often in New York. They can't all be...well, they can't all be Sebastians. Sometimes the best fucks are found in the least attractive packages.

Blaine just sighs and nods, thrusting himself off the brick. "You have no idea."

"What's your rate, Sugar?"

Blaine leans into the open window as the man finagles his wallet out of his back pocket. "Forty per job, eighty per fuck. Any more than that and you break out your calculator."

Blaine would have to be blind not to notice the dense row of Benjamins packing his wallet. The man raises an eyebrow at him as he sets a solitary hundred on the passenger seat and closes his wallet up again. "How about we start with a hundred, and depending on how well you scream we'll up the ante."

Blaine smirks, tugging the car handle and feeling it open up under his palm quietly and smoothly. He seizes the bill and stuffs it in his spandex shorts before sliding into the car and shutting the door behind him. "Well, Sir, I've been told I have quite the voice box. So I suppose you're in for an empty wallet by the time we're done."

The man chuckles darkly, reaching a hand over the center console to start rubbing Blaine through his thin shorts, right over his hardening cock, as he pulls away from the curb. "I love me a screamer. The fun ones always scream."

Blaine moans loudly at his client's movements, laying back into the expensive leather seat and letting his eyes close as he spreads his legs wide to give the man more room to work with as he drives. "Well call me Pipes, Sugar Daddy, 'cause you've just caught yourself the pick of the lot."

"Oh, I can tell, baby. I can tell."

***

The summer night air is warm, but he's shivering.

His fishnets are torn to shreds, matching the vocal cords inside his throat.

The man had wanted him to scream.

And yeah, Blaine had screamed. But not in the way he thought he would.

Not out of protest. Fear. Pain.

The second the man had locked the doors of the car and rolled up the windows, Blaine sensed something wasn't right. When the man parked his expensive car in an empty backlot, Blaine knew something was wrong. And then there was a gun to his head, forcing him into the backseat of the car to lay flat on his back.

It only comes in flashes. The cool metal against his skin, the rough hands ripping the front of his corset open like it was made of paper. The face wasn't friendly anymore. There was no condom. No extra lube. But there was rope around his wrists. And there was a knife. God, there was a knife.

Blaine feels himself getting sick thinking about it, and he heaves onto the pavement, clutching his stomach as the contents within manifest themselves a second time.

His jaw is bruised, he knows that much. His wrists probably are as well from how hard he has struggled, how vigorously he had yanked and tugged until he finally got his wrists free long after he'd escaped. His ass burns like all hell, but he's so glad he'd gotten away before the guy came inside of him. He's still at risk for whatever that shitbag might have had, but he can only hope it's something treatable. He won't allow himself to imagine something worse.

The shards of glass from the window left dozens upon dozens of crimson slits in his skin, all over his arms, his abdomen, his legs, his face. He has no idea how he found the strength to kick the window through, but he was still wearing his boots and that probably helped. Kneeing the guy in the crotch wasn't as hard, and Blaine didn't think, just dove through the shattered window frame of the car. He landed on his arm, and it's probably fucked up too, but Blaine didn't think. He just ran. Ran for his fucking life until his lungs gave out and he couldn't breathe through the tears.

He'd called the cops through a payphone, and it sounded like they caught the guy, but Blaine refused to give them his real name. Made up some bullshit moniker and address and pretended to be a fake witness to the situation because, hell, Blaine could still be arrested for prostitution if he was caught. But they'd find the guy, the gun and knife in his car, the blood on the seats and Blaine's torn up outfit. Hopefully they'll lock him up as well.

He doesn't call Kurt until he's sure he's emptied his stomach. Luckily his cellphone was firmly held in place by his elastic garter or else there's no doubt he would have lost that as well.

"Kurt?" He tries is absolute hardest to sound normal, not wanting to scare Kurt right off the bat.

"Hey, baby. It's early, what's up?"

Blaine tries for light when he says, "I don't think you'll be able to get your fantasy fuck out of me tonight in my outfit."

Kurt sounds thoroughly confused now. "What?"

"I'm done." Blaine says. The way he says it only scratches the surface of what he really means, and it's intentional.

"You're done for the night already? I mean, not that I wouldn't love to have you in my bed, of course, but it's only, like, eighty-thirty. And why won't I be able to fuck you?"

Blaine swallows thickly, clenching his eyes shut as he speaks, and his voice his destroyed. He hadn't quite noticed that before. "No, Kurt. I'm done with everything. This whole job. I'm done. I'm finished." Because Blaine is. They'd been talking about when would be the right time to stop, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted it to be this soon, but tonight opened his eyes a litter wider than he'd hoped. He could have been killed. He still could have caught something from that guy that he doesn't know about yet.

No matter what anyone will try to tell him, sex workers can be raped on the job, and Blaine...was. He was raped. That word makes bile rise up in Blaine's throat, but he swallows it down quickly.

Kurt is silent, but Blaine can hear Kurt's calculations over the phone. And then there's panic. "Blaine, what the hell happened tonight?"

Blaine fails to stifle a sob and then the tears start up. "Kurt, can you please come get me?"

"Blaine, what in the living fuck happened?!"

"Kurt, please! I'll explain, just please come get me now. I'm on Broadway and Lexington. For god's sake, Kurt, please save your questions. I'm...I'm fine I just need you, okay?" Blaine can't stop the hiccupping that appears between words as the tears flow freely.

"Okay! God, I'm leaving now I promise I'll be right there!"

Blaine doesn't wait for any more conversation, just hangs up and curls into a ball as drunks and hippies and tourists and all sorts mill around the street, not casting him a second glance, despite his shirtlessness and his torn fishnets and the fact that the only thing on his body is spandex shorts and Doc Martins. It's New York, after all. He's not an oddity. Not a spectacle.

But god, Blaine just wants to die. He feels so sick, so broken down, so hurt, and he just wants it to stop.

Kurt can make it stop. But he still has to wait. Kurt's apartment isn't far, and he's not sure if it would be faster to run or take a taxi.

His question is answered minutes later when a bright yellow taxi comes speeding around the corner, and pulls up at the curb, Kurt throwing himself out before it comes to a complete stop.

He freezes when he takes in the state of Blaine. Then his name comes out broken on Kurt's lips. "Blaine."

Blaine bolts up, throwing himself into Kurt's arms and finally sobbing, letting every ounce of hurt flow out of him as he clutches Kurt so close. He hardly registers Kurt jostling him into the taxi and ordering him hurriedly to take them back to the apartment.

Blaine doesn't stop crying until he's on the couch at Kurt's apartment and Kurt is rocking him back and forth, shushing him and kissing his head. Kurt rocks him until his breathing slows back to normal and the tears have dried and Blaine feels some semblance of himself again in Kurt's arms.

"Blaine, you have to tell me what happened." Kurt's voice is soft. Insistent, but only for the right reasons.

Blaine takes a deep breath before he regales. "I got in his car. He locked the doors, and I couldn't unlock them. He drove me to a deserted place. And he...he had a gun. Forced me into the backseat. He...he tied my wrists, r-ripped my clothes. He didn't-god-he didn't use anything Kurt, he just forced himself in and I...but I got out and I ran and I just...I just..." Blaine starts hyperventilating about three-quarters of the way through and Kurt pulls him forward again, shushing him. But this time he can feel Kurt shaking, hear him sniffling.

"I called the cops. I think they got him. But I'm...god I was so scared, Kurt. So scared I wasn't going to get back to you."

Kurt sobs then, clutching Blaine harder against him. "No, no, it's-you're here, Blaine. You're here and you're safe. I'm here, and we're together, and we'll always be together, okay?"

"Okay."

They don't speak for a long time after that. They hold each other. They cry quietly. And eventually they stumble to Kurt's sectioned off portion of the room and fall onto the bed. Within minutes he's asleep, and he's pretty sure Kurt is too.

~*~

"I see someone spent the night..."

The suggestive lilt in Rachel's voice makes him want to rip her lungs out through her throat.

"Shut the fuck up, Rachel," Kurt hisses, not even attempting to be polite about it. He knows that Rachel knows nothing about what happened last night, but just the thought of her entertaining the notion of them having a passionate affair last night makes him want to vomit in her coffee.

Rachel rears back, nothing but sheer offense painting her face in wide brushes. "Excuse me?"

Kurt glares, jabbing a finger violently in her direction. "You don't know a fucking thing about what happened last night, what we went through, what Blaine went through. God, I don't even want to hear your voice right now."

Rachel looks more baffled than pissed off now, setting her coffee mug down and advancing slowly on Kurt. "Kurt, what happened? What the hell is going on? Why are you bitching at me?"

"You really want to know, Rachel?"

"Yes! I think I deserve to know!"

Kurt slams his cup of coffee down on the counter, his lower lip quivering as he tries not to lose himself in the welling wetness in his eyes and the heating of his sinuses. "While you were busy imagining us doing god knows what, I was doing damage control. Blaine was assaulted last night, Rachel. And I don't mean roughed up with a couple punches."

Rachel's hand flies up to clutch over her heart. "What?"

The tears flood in Kurt's eyes completely against his will, his chest burning with them as he tries to take even breaths and stem them. "He was taken by one of his customers and..."

Rachel's eyes practically bulge out of their sockets as they reflexively fill with tears as well. "Kurt...you don't mean he was..." Kurt doesn't dignify the situation with an answer. The silence is enough to confirm it. "Oh, Kurt," Rachel squeaks out, obstructed by the thickness of tears that leak down her cheeks. Her arms shoot out to wind around Kurt's neck, and he accepts the embrace, because he needs it. He had to be so strong for Blaine last night, but inside he's falling apart and he needs this.

"I am so, so sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's okay. I shouldn't have snapped at you when you didn't know any different."

They hold each other for a long time, until Kurt decides he needs to get back to bed before Blaine wakes up and doesn't find him there. He spoons in behind Blaine's still unconscious form, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his palm against Blaine's bare stomach. Blaine's muscles twitch and suddenly his eyes are blinking open blearily.

"Kurt?" His voice cracks with the morning, as well as the damage to his vocal cords, and it sounds so pitiful that Kurt's chest seizes up.

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm right here." He strokes through Blaine's hair softly, curling it behind his ear and brushing it from his forehead. Blaine lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh, turning and cuddling straight into Kurt's arms where he is always welcome.

Blaine's voice is muffled when he talks, pressed solidly against Kurt's shirt. "I'm never going back out there."

Kurt rests his chin on top of Blaine's head and whispers, "I wouldn't let you even if you wanted to."

Blaine's breathing evens out soon enough, and he's fast asleep and at peace on Kurt's chest. Kurt wishes Blaine would never have to remember everything he went through last night, that he could stay asleep and dreamless forever. However, he can't, and he will have to face up to it once again when he wakes. For now, though, he doesn't have to remain in the real world. So Kurt doesn't move him, doesn't even move himself, and he lets Blaine sleep.