"Whoa," Yvonne says when she picks him up Tuesday morning. "You look hot."

"Uh…thanks?" Blaine says as he climbs into the small, rented SUV.

"No really. I mean, you always look good, but this is more … relaxed. More you."

"So I'm not normally me?" Blaine asks, scrunching his face in confusion.

"No, but this is you, you. Trust me. It's good."

"I just wanted to be comfortable," Blaine says, looking down at his sweater and smoothing his hand over his jeans. "Last time I felt overdressed."

For his second photo shoot with Kurt, Blaine had decided to tone down his wardrobe a bit. He'd left his hair mostly gel-free and chosen a deep red cardigan to wear with his jeans. Nothing special, and though he knows it looks good on him, he just wants to look like he's not trying to impress anyone, least of all Kurt.

"Whatever you say, dear," Yvonne replies as she playfully pinches his cheek.

Blaine ducks out of her reach.

"Please don't act like this all day. I'd like to retain some semblance of professionalism."

"I'm always professional," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a laugh.

"Right," Blaine says, buckling his seat belt. "Let's just go."

The photo shoot is for One West's holiday campaign and they're on location at an estate a few miles outside of the city. It's one of those places that Blaine thinks looks like it would be perfect to live in, but in reality would be far more work than it's worth. There's so much open space that would be impossible to decorate – at least not in a way that would feel homey or cozy – and it would never be clean unless you could afford to have a live-in housekeeping staff.

It is, however, perfect for a photo shoot and it's decorated for the holidays – a large, ostentatious tree in the center of the grand foyer – even though it's only August and the heat outside is unbearable right now. Blaine's kind of regretting the sweater, to be honest. It was fine in the air conditioning of his apartment and the car, but now, while he's helping Zach set up lights and moving decorations and furniture with Yvonne, he's starting to sweat a little.

"You could take the sweater off, you know," Yvonne says when she sees Blaine pulling at the sleeves yet again.

"I'm fine," Blaine insists.

He won't admit it, but he refuses to take it off until Kurt has a chance to see him in it. He knows it's nothing special, but schlepping around in a plain t-shirt definitely won't impress. And he wants Kurt to notice. He doesn't even consider what that little desire might mean.

About 20 minutes later, the models still haven't arrived, and the room is stiflingly hot now that the sunlight is streaming in though the front windows. Blaine caves and yanks his cardigan over his head, not bothering to unbutton it. His t-shirt comes with it and he has to pull it down to keep from completely disrobing in the middle of the photo shoot.

He hears a small choking sound and turns to see Kurt standing in the entryway, staring wide-eyed. They hold eye contact for a few tense moments, neither one looking like they know what to say. Just as Blaine opens his mouth, about to say hi, Kurt speaks.

"Is this the kind of operation Price is running now?" Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "Can't even keep your shirt on?"

"Sorry?" Blaine says. He shuffles his feet uncomfortably, wondering why everything comes out sounding like a question when he talks to Kurt.

"That's starting to be a theme," Kurt replies, lifting a paper coffee cup to his mouth.

Blaine watches as Kurt swallows and licks his lips. Blaine wonders how he is able to drink coffee in this heat without breaking a sweat. He also considers that Kurt might actually look quite delicious gleaming with sweat. Blaine knows he's staring and he really should say something before Kurt thinks he's a total freak.

"Have you seen Ben?" Kurt asks, sounding bored.

"He's, uh….in the first bedroom on the right," Blaine says, pointing down the hallway to their left.

"Oh, so you can speak in complete sentences," Kurt says as he walks in the direction Blaine pointed.

"Smooth," Yvonne says from behind him.

"Let's just get to work," Blaine says. He's annoyed with himself for not being able to charm Kurt. Although, right now he'd just settle for not sticking his foot in his mouth every time he opens it to speak. Or at least not staring awkwardly like he's never seen a good-looking man before.

Kurt is even more gorgeous than Blaine remembered and he has a hard time focusing on his work – dropping a vase and watching it shatter on the marble tile and stubbing his toe more than once on a stray prop – so Yvonne has him go outside to set up the location for their group shots. The distraction helps Blaine compose himself. A little.

And then, dressed in a thick shearling-lined coat and slim-fitted jeans, Kurt emerges from the house with the other four models, chatting amiably with the same muscular model – David, Blaine remembers – who had been friendly with Blaine at the last shoot.

"Anderson," David says, slapping him on the back. "I didn't know you were here. I saw Yvonne inside and figured you would be back to cupcake logos. You know Kurt, right?"

Blaine nods, shocked that David remembers their conversation. He'd barely remembered David's name. Maybe he'd complained about his job more than he realized.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, though," Blaine says, holding out a hand to Kurt. "I'm Blaine."

"Kurt." He takes Blaine's hand and pumps it once, dropping it as quickly as he can.

"You'll have to forgive Kurt," David says. "He's kind of a bitch, but I put up with him because he's got a hot roommate."

"She'd kick you in the balls if she heard you say that," Kurt says dryly.

"It would be almost be worth it," David says. "Have you seen her legs?"

"Gay, remember?" Kurt says, pointing at himself. "As is she."

"She's still hot."

Blaine laughs but stops short when Kurt glares at him. He returns his attention to David.

"Actually," David says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Kurt only talks to me because I'm straight."

Blaine lifts an eyebrow and looks to Kurt.

"Jesus, David!" he says, swatting at his arm.

"Sorry," David says, but not sounding it at all. "Kurt here hates getting hit on, but I'm safe because I like girls."

Kurt is glaring at David, but Blaine refuses to give up.

"I can understand that," he says, giving Kurt his best friendly smile. When Kurt makes eye contact, though, he drops his head a little. He feels a blush creeping up his neck. "I bet you get hit on all the time. Probably gets old." He looks back up at Kurt and tries to smile.

"Wow…really?" Kurt says, tilting his head to the side.

Blaine doesn't understand what he's said. He was agreeing with Kurt, complimenting him even. He looks at him with his mouth open.

"Typical," Kurt says and saunters off toward Ben and Yvonne.

"What did I say?" Blaine asks, gaping after Kurt.

"Dude, don't take it personally," David says. "Kurt's just like that sometimes. You'll get used to it."

Blaine nods at David, who smiles before following Kurt to join the rest of the crew. Blaine feels even more determined to break through Kurt's icy exterior now. And maybe, he silently admits to himself, he's a little annoyed that Kurt seems to disapprove of Blaine in particular. He kind of wants to prove Kurt wrong.

Blaine spends the rest of the day being extra attentive to Kurt: getting him water when he complains that he's dehydrated from wearing a winter coat in the heat; suggesting a break when he sees Kurt leaning heavily on a tree between shots; offering him sunscreen when he has to stand in the sun too long; laughing at his jokes when no one else does — anything he can think of to get in Kurt's good graces.

"I'm not interested," Kurt says as he takes the offered towel from Blaine's hands on the last shot of the day.

"I'm sorry?" Blaine asks.

"Whatever you're doing. All of … this," Kurt says gesturing with the towel toward the bottle of water in Blaine's left hand. "It won't work."

"Just doing my job," Blaine says, smiling.

"Your job is not to wait on me," Kurt says. "And I'm not interested."

"Oh," Blaine says, eyes wide finally understanding what Kurt is getting at. "You think I'm hitting on you?"

"I don't think," Kurt says. "I know. And although it's sweet, I'm just not interested. I don't date industry people. Sorry."

"Kurt," Blaine says.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says. "The answer is no."

He gives Blaine a stern look and is gone. Blaine doesn't even know what just happened. He was just trying to be nice. He hadn't been trying to flirt with Kurt or anything. He just wants to be his friend. Why is he failing so miserably at something so simple?

Blaine spends a lot of time thinking about that encounter with Kurt over the next few days to the point where it consumes most of his waking thoughts. Every time his mind wanders, he daydreams about Kurt. He thinks of the lift of Kurt's jaw whenever he sees Blaine, the disdain in his eyes. It should be really annoying. He should hate Kurt for being so damned difficult. But he just finds himself curious – about Kurt, about his past, his present … his life.

If Blaine had been completely honest with himself, he might have realized how attracted he was to Kurt, but instead he drives himself to the point of distraction. It's so bad by Friday that Yvonne calls him out on it.

"I swear to god, Blaine Anderson, if you don't go out this weekend and have some fun, I'm going to fire your ass."

"Huh?" Blaine says, prying his eyes from his screen where he'd been working on a logo for the last few hours.

"You've been off your game since that photo shoot. And I'm sorry that Kurt wasn't interested, but you need to get a grip," she says.

"I'm fine," Blaine insists.

"You're using Papyrus for crying out loud," Yvonne says, gesturing toward his screen. "You're NOT fine."

He turns back to his desk and stares at the mess he's created on his desktop. It's hideous. And he realizes he was just daydreaming. He hadn't even consciously chosen that font; he was just biding his time to get home and try to come up with ways to get Kurt to speak to him.

"I think I need a drink," Blaine says.

"Or get laid," Yvonne says under her breath.

"I heard that."

"Good," she says, reaching over him to close the file he has open. "Maybe you'll take my advice. Find a gay bar, have a few drinks, pick up a cute guy. You'll thank me."

She pulls his chair out and he lets her spin him in it until he's facing her.

"You know in some work places, that would be considered sexual harassment," Blaine says.

"Go home," she says. "I'll see you Monday."

Blaine heads home as Yvonne suggested, but he has no plans to go out and pick up guys. He just wants to go home and order Chinese takeout. He's too old for the bar scene these days. And besides, he still has photos to edit. Photos of Kurt.

The problem with that particular tactic is Blaine is forced to stare at Kurt's face – and body – for hours on end. Alone. In his apartment. On a Friday night.

It's not his fault that his mind wanders down a particularly pornographic path. It's probably less due to the way Kurt's ass looks in the pants he's wearing in each shot and more to do with the fact that Blaine has gotten so familiar with his right hand lately that he's feeling like he should take it to dinner. He's just horny. Plain and simple.

Maybe Yvonne was right. Maybe he should go out, find some hot guy and get it out of his system.

Blaine grabs his keys and heads to a new club he'd heard about from one of the younger guys working in production. It's overpriced and overcrowded, but there's a bar, and the guys aren't bad.

He heads straight to the bar in the back and orders a Jack and Coke. Blaine takes a long, slow pull from his glass and turns to watch the mass of bodies on the dance floor. The crowd is just getting worked up and he can see a sheen of sweat on most of the guys already. It's an average Friday night.

His eyes trail across a few of the guys dancing with each other and he suddenly feels much too old. These guys all look to be barely old enough to have a fake ID and Blaine seriously considers just finishing his drink and going home.

And then he sees him.

Dancing by himself, although there are clearly three guys trying to get him to notice them. His eyes are closed and his head thrown back as he bounces along to the beat, lost in the rhythm of the music. He looks like sex personified.

Blaine puts his drink to his lips, rolls the liquid around in his mouth, and swallows hard. The whiskey burns its way down his throat as he watches Kurt lose himself in the sway of bodies around him.

He makes up his mind before he can chicken out. He downs the rest of his drink and slams the glass dramatically on the bar. Well, it feels dramatic anyway. As Blaine crosses the dance floor, he weaves his way through a dozen or so men who all seem to want to grab his ass, pull him in for a dance. But he doesn't stop. Not until he reaches his mark.

Blaine taps Kurt on the shoulder, and he turns around and opens his eyes.

"Hey," Blaine says, bracing for Kurt's usual venom.

"Oh my god, Blaine!" Kurt yells over the music. "Dance with me!"

He grabs Blaine's hand and twirls him on the spot. Blaine can't help but laugh and smile because Kurt is suddenly being so open and friendly. He looks young and free and damn near effervescent dancing like that. There's none of the previous disdain directed at Blaine and it's wonderful. And he's smiling. At Blaine.

Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's hips and guides his movements until he relaxes a little. At some point Blaine manages to calm his nerves enough to sync his dancing with the pulse of the bass line. He lets himself get lost in the music and the simple feeling of Kurt pressed against him. And god does that feel good.

When the song changes up to one with a slightly slower beat, Kurt's arms find their way around Blaine's neck, and he pulls him in tight to his torso. They're touching from chest to hip and their feet are tangled together as they sway together. Blaine grabs onto Kurt's waist in order to keep himself from falling over, the sensation making his skin feel warm and tingly at every point of contact. And even trapped in the midst of a sweaty, drunk mass of guys on the dance floor, Kurt smells amazing.

By the third song, it becomes apparent that Kurt is more than a little drunk.

"I really hate you, you know," Kurt says into Blaine's ear, loud enough so he can be heard above the music, and close enough that it sends shivers down Blaine's spine, even though Kurt's words are slightly slurred.

"No you don't," Blaine says, leaning in just as intimately.

Kurt pulls back and his eyes are hooded and dark for a moment before he squares his shoulders and shakes his head slowly. It seems to clear the fog in his head.

"I need a drink," he declares and pulls Blaine by the hand toward the bar.

He orders them both shots of tequila and smirks at Blaine as he licks his hand to sprinkle it with salt.

"Bottoms up," he says before licking the salt from his skin and chasing it with the shot. He scrunches up his face adorably as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. When he sucks on a lime wedge, he looks over at Blaine, who is just setting his empty shot glass on the bar. "You need another drink," he says and waves the bartender over.

They do another shot, and Blaine can't be sure if he imagines the way Kurt's tongue curls around his finger chasing a bit of lime juice. He orders another round hoping Kurt will do it again.

After the third shot, Blaine's head starts to feel more than a little fuzzy. Kurt shudders as he swallows it down and Blaine laughs. Kurt sticks his tongue out playfully.

By the time they're sitting together in a tiny booth near the back of the club, sharing a bench and sipping mixed drinks, Blaine has lost track of how many shots he and Kurt shared at the bar. Blaine doesn't quite know what's in his umbrella-adorned glass, but it tastes fruity and not really strong at all. Which probably means it's extra dangerous.

He turns his head to smile at Kurt. This is the best night.

"Your hair is really awesome," he says.

"Oh I bet it's a mess," Kurt replies, running his hand over the front of it where it swoops away from his forehead. It looks flawless in spite of all the dancing. Blaine resists the urge to reach up to run his hands through it.

"My hair is a mess," Blaine says, rolling his eyes up as if he could see it for himself. "Too curly."

"I like the curls," Kurt says simply as he glances up. "Reminds me of a Cocker Spaniel we had when I was a kid."

"That's a funny word, cocker," Blaine says, snorting out a laugh.

"You're drunk," Kurt replies.

"So are you."

"Maybe," Kurt says. He holds two fingers up and pinches them close together and closes one eye. "A little. I could go for some coffee right now. To sober me up."

"I love coffee," Blaine says, chewing on his straw. "But I'm like the only person I know who orders regular coffee at Starbucks. Like, I bet you're a soy latte kind of guy." He pulls the straw out of his mouth and points it at Kurt.

Kurt lifts his chin and stares down his nose at Blaine. "Nonfat mocha, thank you very much."

"Still fancier than my order," Blaine says with a shrug, dropping the straw in his glass.

Kurt smiles. It's warm and open and kind of makes Blaine's stomach twist in a wonderful way, or maybe that's the alcohol. Blaine rests his chin in his hand and leans forward, smiling at Kurt.

"Have coffee with me sometime." The words are out of his mouth before he can think.

Kurt reels back, looking suddenly all-too sober for as much as they've had to drink.

"What am I doing?" he says, trying to shove Blaine out of the booth and climb over him all at once. "I've got to go."

Kurt stumbles a little and Blaine catches his forearm.

"Kurt...just wait. Kurt, what's wrong?"

He jerks his arm out of Blaine's grip and loses his balance for a second before catching himself on the table. He stands up and tugs down on the front of his shirt, correcting his posture and standing tall again.

"I just need to go. I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" Blaine asks. "We're just talking." He laughs nervously. Did he say something wrong?

"I'm sorry. I can't," Kurt says, looking completely horrified. "I have to go."

"Kurt…"

But he's gone and Blaine is left staring after him, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head from too much alcohol. Or maybe it was from the emotional whiplash.

Blaine stumbles through his doorway – only dropping his keys once – just before 2 a.m. He and Kurt had danced and talked for at least two hours before he'd run off. Blaine's head is still buzzing from the music and the alcohol, and he swears he can still smell Kurt on his clothes.

He flops down on his sofa and nearly knocks his laptop to the floor with the impact. He catches it just as it's sliding off one of the cushions and flips it open. The photos of Kurt he'd been editing earlier are still open.

"God, you're sexy," Blaine says out loud. He runs his hand loosely down the screen as if he could somehow touch Kurt's perfect skin through the cold plastic. It's not even remotely the same, but Blaine remembers the feeling of Kurt pressed against him on the dance floor and the way his eyes lit up when he first saw Blaine. It was more than he could have hoped for when he'd first seen him from across the club. But Kurt had been full of surprises.

"What are you hiding underneath all that fire and ice, Kurt Hummel?"

He scrolls through a few more photos until he finds the one he's looking for: an outtake where Kurt had laughed at David tripping over a prop. Kurt's eyes are nearly closed and his mouth is open wide enough to reveal a row of small teeth framed by his lush mouth and the cutest dimples.

And it's so fucking sexy, seeing Kurt completely uninhibited just like he had been on the dance floor earlier, Blaine thinks he might actually cry out of frustration. Instead, he unzips his jeans. He considers trying to do this without thinking of Kurt, but he's still a little drunk and he's too worked up to call up a different fantasy.

As he drags a hand up his torso, Blaine wonders what Kurt's hands would feel like under his shirt. Would it be rushed and heated or would he take his time worshipping over Blaine's body? Blaine's hand dips lower, underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. Just a tease, but it sends a shot of arousal through his body like fire.

His mind wanders to the feeling of Kurt's breath, hot on his neck, when they had danced. The way his eyes had looked dark and seductive when they moved together. Surely Blaine hadn't mistaken that look. Arousal, attraction, desire. He's certain it was all there, even if Kurt didn't want to admit it.

Blaine opens another photo from earlier in the day. Kurt is lounging on a retro-looking sofa. Blaine doesn't remember this shot. It must have been one of the ones they did after Yvonne sent him outside. It's probably a good thing that she did because Kurt looks positively sinful: his arm draped over the back of the sofa with his legs sprawled loosely in front of him, looking longer and leaner than before. God, Blaine wants those legs wrapped around him.

Kurt's head is turned to the side, face tilted away from the camera. The way he's seated on the sofa leaves just enough room for Blaine to sit down beside him and nibble his way up the long column of Kurt's neck while his hand grazes Kurt's inner thigh.

Blaine arches up into his own hand at the thought, and he almost upends his laptop. He grabs it with his left hand before it can slide off his legs. Blaine readjusts and zooms in on Kurt's profile, not wanting to let go of the fantasy quite yet. He imagines the little whimpers Kurt would try to hold back as Blaine teased his earlobe with the tip of his tongue. The way the tendons in his neck would shift and pull as Blaine dragged his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

Blaine trails his hand down his own neck and tries to imagine what he would say, what he would do if Kurt would let him touch him like this.

"Kurt," he moans, taking his already hard cock in his hand. "Feels so good. God, I want you to touch me so bad."

He strokes down the length of his cock, keeping his eyes trained on the images of Kurt on his computer screen.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, Kurt. I want to map out your fucking chest with my tongue. Make you scream my name."

He's coming undone too quickly but he just doesn't care. He's picturing Kurt writhing beneath him as he takes him apart with each flick of his tongue.

"God, your tiny fucking waist," he says. "I could wrap my legs around you twice. Let you fuck me."

He slows his movements a bit, wanting to draw this out, and his eyes fall on Kurt's perfectly styled hair.

"You're just begging for it, aren't you Kurt? To have that hair pulled? Messed up? To be owned."

Blaine moans, and the thought of giving Kurt back some of his ferocity turns to toe-curling pleasure as his orgasm starts to build. He bucks up into his fist and feels himself begin to tip over the edge. His back arches and he surges forward as he comes, not noticing where it's landing.

When he falls back against the sofa, he opens his eyes and sees his laptop screen streaked with his come. He reaches up to wipe it off, knows he should be concerned about cleaning it up, but he stops short. Because right now, he just wants to enjoy the image of Kurt covered in pearly white streaks of come. His come.

And god, if that isn't the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen.