Chapter 5

Blaine arrived at the Ponce precisely at 4 o'clock, and inquired at the desk after the Fabrays. They were to have tea in the Solarium on the fourth floor, and he needed help finding it.

The bellboy guided him to the elevator and asked the attendant to see him safely to the Solarium. When they reached the fourth floor landing, the attendant pointed to his right and said, "Just through the door, sir and you can't miss it."

"Thank you," he said.

Blaine entered the Solarium on the west side of the domed room and was immediately enraptured by the expansive windows to his left and right. One set looked out over the front courtyard, from which a steady breeze was pouring in, and the other opened onto a bright outdoor balcony, where a few guests were enjoying the late-afternoon sun.

There were a few people sitting indoors playing cards or reading, but most were seated at small tables, set for afternoon tea. He didn't immediately see the Fabrays, so he decided to wander for a moment. When he ducked outside, he was greeted with both Hummel men, sitting in high-backed wicker chairs. Kurt was reading Dorian Gray again, and Burt was partially hidden behind a large newspaper.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hummel," he greeted. "Kurt."

Burt lowered his newspaper and squinted up at Blaine, and for a moment, he wasn't sure if Kurt's father was happy to see him. But it mattered little because as soon as he heard his own name, Kurt looked up from his book and beamed at Blaine, leaving him feeling as though he were looking straight into the sun. He leaned into its warmth and nodded in recognition.

"Good afternoon, Blaine," Burt said. "Nice to see you again." He turned to Kurt. "You didn't tell me you had plans this afternoon."

"W-we don't," Kurt said, his confusion plain. They hadn't seen each other alone since last night, but Kurt looked as though he wanted Blaine to whisk him away. Blaine longed to fulfill that wish — and every wish — but it was not meant to be.

"Sadly, my afternoon is already spoken for," he said. "I'm here to have tea with the Fabrays."

"Oh yes," Burt said. "That nice couple from dinner last night." He paused and glanced from Kurt to Blaine. "Miss Lucy is a fine young woman."

"So I understand," Blaine said, not wishing to show his hand. If he told anyone his grandfather expected him to court Lucy, it would be all over the hotel by dinner time.

Kurt's entire body seemed to stiffen at his words, or perhaps Blaine imagined it. Either way it made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't quite understand. Blaine cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back.

"I really should be finding my hosts," he said. "It was good seeing you both again."

"It was good to see you too," Burt said and returned to reading his paper.

Kurt sat in silence for a moment, a challenge brewing behind his stormy eyes. Without turning his gaze from Blaine, he said, "Father, I'm going to see if the afternoon mail has arrived."

"My son is a lucky man," Burt said, his nose still buried in his paper. "Our young Miss Berry writes him nearly every day."

Kurt blinked rapidly, but did not otherwise acknowledge his father's words.

"I'm sure she misses him terribly," Blaine said, holding Kurt's gaze steadily. "It must be difficult to be apart from the one you love."

Kurt rose without looking away and crossed to the doors leading back inside. Blaine followed but did not speak until he was certain they were out of earshot of Kurt's father.

"Have you plans for after dinner?" he asked in a low voice.

"I suppose that depends on what you have in mind," Kurt replied. He smirked at Blaine; that teasing quality that he so adored made Blaine's heart flutter madly in his chest. If only Kurt knew what he wanted to say — and worse, do — he would surely run to the train depot and flee back to New York before the day was out. But it was the raised eyebrow that emboldened Blaine's words. He knew that Kurt enjoyed his company; the reasons why mattered little.

"Meet me in the lobby once your father has retired for the evening, and you'll find out," he teased.

"Do I not get even a small clue?" Kurt asked.

Blaine was about to respond when he saw Lucy Fabray enter the Solarium through the same entrance he had used earlier. She was accompanied by a member of the hotel staff who directed her to a table in a small patch of sun near the front windows. Her fair hair shone in the light as she craned her neck in search of Blaine. When she made eye contact, her face lit up and she gave him a small wave, as much as would be considered appropriate. He nodded in her direction and returned his attention to Kurt.

Leaning in close, he whispered, "You'll just have to take a chance. If you think you're up to it."

A tiny twitch of Kurt's eyebrow was to be Blaine's only clue that he might be intrigued by that idea before Kurt turned to exit the Solarium, leaving Blaine to join Lucy Fabray for tea.

"Mr. Anderson," she said as Blaine approached. "I hope you don't mind, but mother wasn't feeling well and father still hasn't gotten back from his treatment yet."

"Treatment?" Blaine asked as he took his seat. "I hope everything is all right?"

"Oh yes," she said, waving him off. "He's just got a touch of rheumatism. The doctor prescribed visits to the baths as a way to cleanse the system. Nothing serious."

"I didn't know they had bathhouses here in St. Augustine," Blaine said, unsure of why he was lying to her. He was fully aware of the baths.

"Oh yes," she replied. "At the Alcazar, across the street. They have an entire Casino — swimming pool, shops, a gymnasium, and, of course, the baths. It only costs 25 cents unless you're staying at the hotel."

She paused when a waiter arrived to deliver their tea. Lucy looked poised and practiced as she served them both, posture never faltering, her smile never wavering.

"So you haven't been yet?" Lucy asked as she held up a small cup of cream and gestured to Blaine questioningly.

"Not yet," he replied, waving a hand over his teacup. "Is it worth the 25 cents?"

She giggled at that and set the cream down on the tray. "Indeed, sir. They even have a separate swimming pool for the more modest ladies."

Ah, flirting: something Blaine had a level of familiarity with. He leaned in and gave her his most charming smile.

"Are you modest, Miss Fabray?"

She had the decency to blush at that, but Blaine also noticed her eyes darken. His obligation to court her might not be such a trial after all, he decided.

"Mother said since we were meeting in public, it's acceptable for the two of us to have tea alone. I think it would be best if we kept our conversation to more... appropriate topics."

"Pardon me if I'm being too forward, Miss Fabray," he said before she had a chance to respond. Blaine knew exactly how to play his part in this charade, and if he had to participate, he might as well be the one calling the shots.

"Please call me Quinn."

"Quinn?" Blaine enquired. "But I thought..."

"My first name is Lucy," she replied, "but my friends call me Quinn." Her eyelashes fluttered demurely as she toyed with the handle of her teacup. "Father says the Russian baths are quite nice."

Blaine's ears perked up at that. "Russian baths you say?"

Quinn nodded. "He says after the steam bath they offer a massage and mineral water as well. He told mother it was most invigorating."

"I may have to try that out," he said, doubting that the Alcazar's baths could invigorate him the same as the New York bathhouses did. Even so, it didn't stop him from wondering if Kurt would accompany him there. The idea of seeing Kurt scantily clad again made him anxious for the dinner hour so he could be in his company once more.

Quinn delicately lifted her cup to her lips and smiled warmly at Blaine. Her glance was playful and flirtatious but not too forward. She knew equally well how this game should be played and she was doing so expertly. Even asking him to call her by a nickname was a bold move.

But even as he flirted back, Blaine sipped his tea and imagined Kurt draped in little more than a towel and relaxing in the thick steam of the baths as the sweat dripped from his skin, dampening his thick, brown hair and causing it to droop charmingly over his forehead as it had at the beach. Blaine's skin tingled in anticipation at the thought, and the knowledge that he might have the opportunity to share such an intimate experience with Kurt had his mind reeling. He heaved a sigh that quickly drew him back to reality.

"So what sorts of things do you do for fun, Miss Fabray?" Blaine asked, doing his best to make conversation even as his mind tried to whirl off into decadent thoughts of worshipping Kurt's perfect body.

"I read a lot," she said breaking the final pieces of the fragile shell of Blaine's daydream. "Novels mostly. Mother thinks it's a waste of my time, but I can't help getting lost in the written word."

That was unexpected. Blaine scooted forward in his chair, excited to find yet another kindred spirit in the his love of literature.

"I'm a writer, you know," Blaine said.

"I didn't know that," Quinn said, resting her head in her hand and looking entirely like a besotted schoolgirl. Perhaps she was.

It reminded Blaine of Kurt in a way that he couldn't quite place and it upset him immensely. He didn't like Quinn usurping their private bond, wanting to keep that particular link close to his heart and away from the prying eyes of others.

"What are your other hobbies?" he asked, feeling as if he were begging for a change in subject. He hoped it didn't sound that way, not wanting to hurt the girl's feelings.

"Um," she began, only slightly rattled by the abrupt turn in their conversation, "botany?"

"Is that a question?"

Quinn's nervous laughter rang out and echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "No," she said. "I just... well, you changed the subject so quickly you see. It caught me quite unaware."

"My apologies," Blaine said, hoping she would leave the literature discussion be. "I just wanted to know more about you. Tell me about your botanical interests." He held up the teapot and gestured in her direction. She nodded and he poured more tea into her cup. She stirred it with a delicate silver spoon, a serene smile on her face as she looked thoughtful before answering.

"Have you noticed how all the flowers are already in bloom here?" she said. "It seems positively criminal when all our friends in New York will be huddled around their hearths warming their hands on a dying fire while we sit in the sun breathing in the orange blossoms."

"I know what you mean," he said. "I stepped off the train and immediately felt guilty for sweating."

Quinn's soft green eyes danced in the afternoon light, and Blaine couldn't help but smile at her. If he had to court young ladies as his mother requested, at least he had the good fortune of encountering one as intriguingly intelligent as Quinn Fabray.

"Miss Fabray," he said, biting into a cookie. "I believe we shall get along quite nicely, don't you?"

"Indeed I do, Mr. Anderson," she said.

When the tea had gone cold, Blaine escorted Quinn back to the lobby and decided to take a walk through town. He still had some time before he needed to dress for dinner and he wasn't keen on spending his free time being glared at by his grandfather.

He walked east toward the bayfront and past the shops that lined the plaza, wondering where Kurt was and if he was thinking of Blaine. His mind wandered to Oliver and lazy afternoons spent discussing their futures and how they would keep their love a secret.

He didn't know if Kurt would want to get involved, but he knew if they did, it would be a clandestine affair to be whispered about in private and hidden from the world. He wished, and not for the first time, that his life didn't need to be that way. He'd seen young men in New York for whom the rules didn't seem to apply – men who dressed as women and performed on stage or sold their bodies to men who had all the wealth they desired but who still couldn't reveal their true nature to their families; men who had wives and children and respectable businesses. Blaine hated them, the hypocrites who frequented the Bowery and then later, judged the men they made love to and scoffed at them on the streets. He refused to live like that. He would not hide his true self, even if he couldn't reveal the whole truth. Instead he chose to visit bathhouses and hire rent boys for the night, refusing to marry and always defending the Bohemian lifestyle.

It was a chance night out with his parents when he was home for the Christmas holidays that led Blaine to a lecture by Oscar Wilde almost 14 years prior, and it had changed him forever.

That night, Mr. Wilde had shocked his audience with his aesthetic demeanor and effeminate dress, but Blaine found it utterly intriguing, and even at just 12 years old, Blaine could appreciate the man's philosophy. As he spoke of Greek love and how little else mattered but the expression of one's art, Blaine found the poet could have been speaking of his own life. Despite his mother's disdain for the crowd that had attended the lecture, and possibly in spite of it, Blaine had worshipped the man as an artist ever since, and so it was no wonder he was so drawn to Kurt, who obviously appreciated the writer's work as well.

Blaine wondered again whether Kurt knew the hidden meaning in Mr. Wilde's words, and decided to ask him when they were once again alone. At the very least, he should be educated on the origins of what he was reading so as not to attract the wrong sort of person, Blaine reasoned. It didn't occur to him that he was the very type of person he professed to be protecting Kurt from.

As he headed back toward his grandfather's home to dress for dinner, he decided to take the long way round, through the hotel grounds and past the artists' studios.

He heard a familiar lilting voice drifting down from the balcony as he approached building that housed the artists' studios. He climbed the stairs and stopped in front of studio number one, leaning in to listen to Kurt ask for clarification in Mr. de Crano's instruction.

"Is this right?" he asked.

"A little more force on the top of the brush," an accented voice replied. "Yes, like that."

Blaine tilted his head to look through the open door and saw Kurt dressed more casually than he had seen him yet, a thin smock covering his white shirt and plain brown trousers. He was standing with his back to the door, sleeves rolled up as he worked on a small canvas. He looked to be painting a vase of flowers that was sitting on a table next to where Mr. de Crano stood guiding Kurt's movements.

"Not so much blue," de Crano said. "Or you'll make the shadows too purple. Remember the red and blue make the purple."

"Oh yes, I see," Kurt said, smiling as his brushstrokes came to life. The painting wasn't bad, but obviously created by an untrained hand. It contrasted with the skillful artwork that covered canvases adorning the walls and propped against table legs. Mr. de Crano was a busy man.

Kurt turned to face the painter, presenting his profile to Blaine who could just see a streak of yellow paint near the bridge of Kurt's prominent nose. Blaine bit his cheek to keep from laughing, but he also found himself wanting to wipe the smudge from Kurt's handsome face. His heart raced at the thought, and he ducked out of view just as Mr. de Crano turned toward the doorway.

"Something wrong?" Kurt asked.

"I thought I saw something," de Crano replied. "Or someone..."

"Oh?" Kurt said.

They both remained quiet for a moment before the painter said, "It was probably nothing. My old eyes playing tricks... back to work."

Kurt laughed and soon the sounds coming from the studio made it clear they were back to the lesson. Blaine leaned in to peer around the door again and saw that Kurt had his tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrated on his brush strokes. Blaine couldn't help it; he let out a quiet laugh. At the sound, Kurt's head snapped around, his neck craning toward the door just as Blaine ducked out of sight again.

"Did you hear that?" he said.

"Huh?"

"That sound," Kurt said. "It sounded like it came from the doorway."

Blaine heard footsteps nearing, but didn't have time to retreat, so he stood up straight and prepared to explain himself to Kurt, but instead he came face to face with the elderly painter. His eyes widened in shock as the man studied him for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to call out to Kurt, but Blaine held a finger to his lips in a silent plea as de Crano's eyes danced with mirth. He nodded once and tilted his head back into the studio.

"Nothing here, my young pupil," he said. "You must be hearing your muse at last."

And then the man was gone, leaving Blaine with only his own rapidly beating heart for company.

After that Blaine didn't dare linger near the studio any longer, so he made his way back to Markland, hoping Mr. de Crano wouldn't tell Kurt he'd been spying. He wasn't sure why he didn't want Kurt to know, but he felt as if he'd intruded on something intimate and Blaine hated to think he might have betrayed Kurt's confidence in that way.

His grandfather was already in his room dressing when Blaine entered the house, so he avoided any kind of lecture for the moment, but when he found a telegram laid on his writing desk, he sighed. It was from his mother. He opened it reluctantly and unfolded the crisp paper.

Your grandfather tells me you are shirking responsibilities in favor of entertaining a mechanic's son. Need I remind you that I sent you to St. Augustine to find a wife? Please don't let your father down. -Mother

Blaine balled up the note and flung it into the fireplace, wishing it made a more satisfying sound than a quiet whoosh as it hit the grate.

He knew why he was here; he didn't need constant reminders from his mother — or anyone else for that matter — to reinvigorate the guilt that had taken up permanent residence in the back of his mind. His every waking moment was filled with reminders that he needed to marry and fulfill his obligations to his family — well, until he fathered a child that is.

He sighed heavily and slumped down in his desk chair, resting his head in his hands. Why must this all be forced on him? Why couldn't he simply remain unmarried and still maintain his pride — and his inheritance? It didn't seem fair, nor did it make any rational sense. Many of his friends were unmarried — bachelorhood became more popular by the day it seemed — but his father would hear nothing of the sort. Blaine was both angry and saddened by the requirement and was losing his will to fight against it. Perhaps he could marry Miss Fabray and be done with the whole business. He was tired and no longer wished to argue with his family about his lifestyle. If he married, perhaps they would leave him be, ask fewer questions, and then he could be left alone to pursue his prurient interests.

Blaine wondered if there was any sort of reason he could manufacture to be in Kurt's company for extended periods of time. A convincing enough excuse could be a very convenient cover for their affair. If they were to have one.

"Mr. Blaine?"

Blaine looked up to see Jenkins standing in the doorway to his room. "Yes, Jenkins," he said. "Do come in."

"I just wanted to let you know that your grandfather says you'd be leaving for dinner in fifteen minutes. He wants you dressed and ready to go in ten."

Blaine sighed again and nodded. "Thank you."

Jenkins turned to leave but then paused. "Would you like some help dressing, Mr. Blaine?" he asked.

"I'd like some help escaping," Blaine replied.

Jenkins looked at him quizzically. "I'm not sure I understand, sir."

Blaine waved him off and said, "That's quite alright. I didn't mean anything. I can dress myself, but thank you for the offer."

Jenkins nodded and then was gone. Blaine heard his steady footsteps retreat down the hallway, and then it was quiet for a moment before he heard his grandfather's booming voice from the room next door, "And make sure he shines those confounded shoes!"

Dinner seemed to drag on even longer than the night before, and Blaine hadn't run into Kurt during the cocktail hour — assuming the young man was still cleaning up from his painting lesson. — so when he spotted him from across the dining room, he was unprepared for the way it made him feel. He wanted to run the length of the room and scoop Kurt up, escape to the nearest room and not emerge until they were both sated on each other's bodies.

The thought both shocked and aroused him, and he could feel the heat burning in his cheeks.

"Are you feeling well, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine glanced up to meet Quinn Fabray's gaze. He cleared his throat and smiled at her. "Yes, Miss Fabray. I think I'm just not used to so much sunshine."

"It is a bit much," she said, obviously going for coquettish with the way she tilted her head down as she spoke. Blaine detested the way women were always deferring to men and acting as though they couldn't endure the simplest exertion. He knew full well what women were capable of, and didn't understand why more men didn't find the practice of hiding it as offensive as he did.

Blaine stabbed at his steak violently, biting his lip to keep from retorting. He felt his grandfather nudge his leg with his knee, but he didn't look up. He was infuriated and wanted dinner to be finished so he could spend some time with Kurt. His grandfather nudged him more forcefully, but Blaine still didn't look up, spearing a roasted carrot on his fork and chewing it slowly. He knew he was acting like a child, but he refused to comply, resolutely ignoring his dining companions for the remainder of the meal. He could feel the anger radiating off his grandfather, but did not acknowledge it.

When the ladies excused themselves after dinner, Blaine felt a harsh hand on his arm just above the elbow. His grandfather hissed in his ear, "What on earth has gotten into you? You're being rude and obstinate, and I won't have you embarrassing me in front of my friends."

Blaine tugged his arm forcibly from his grandfather's grip. "I guess I'm just not feeling well," he said through gritted teeth.

"Then maybe you should spend more time in your room," Dr. Anderson replied, "instead of running around with all sorts of people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know very well what I mean," he said. "You flouncing about with that nancy boy and shoving it in everyone's face."

"Kurt. Is not. A nancy boy." Blaine seethed with anger, clenching his fists at his sides. He resisted with everything he had to keep from striking his grandfather.

"You certainly would know," his grandfather smirked.

"I don't appreciate what you're implying," Blaine said.

"I'm not implying anything that isn't being whispered behind your back all over New York, worrying your poor mother half to death and ruining your father's reputation. Don't think I don't know what you're up to running all over town at all hours of the night, being seen in the company of all those disgusting young men... in all sorts of establishments!"

Blaine could see his grandfather was fighting the urge to resort to fisticuffs himself, his nostrils flaring as his face reddened and his eyes blazed. It was that reaction more than anything that spurred Blaine on.

"This from a man who's set to marry a child!"

"How dare you," his grandfather hissed.

"How dare you," Blaine replied, pushing his chair in harder than was necessary. "Please make my excuses to Mr. Fabray. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?"

"That's none of your business," Blaine said. "But I'm sure you'll come up with something acceptable to tell your friends. Wouldn't want to ruin anyone's precious reputation."

He stormed out of the dining room, dodging the guests who were lingering near the exit and not even seeing when Kurt followed him with his gaze across the lobby and out the front doors.

Kurt shadowed Blaine as he made his way to the courtyard, looking like he might strike the next person who spoke to him. Atop the steps past the west loggia Blaine began to pace frantically, muttering to himself, but when Kurt stepped out of the shadows from where he'd been observing, Blaine froze with his eyes wide.

"Please tell me you didn't hear any of that," he said.

"Any of what?"

"Good," Blaine replied, exhaling a heavy breath.

"Any of what?" Kurt repeated.

"It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," Kurt said, reaching out a soothing hand to rest on Blaine's shoulder. "Tell me."

Blaine sighed and his shoulders drooped. "Just an argument with my grandfather. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Why were you arguing?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time," Kurt said, ducking into Blaine's downcast eye line.

Blaine smiled, his eyes looking watery, but then suddenly squared his shoulders and straightened up.

"Let's not talk of such dismal things. I promised you a delightful evening, and I intend to keep that promise."

"Blaine..."

"Kurt, I'm fine. Really."

"You're not fine."

"I will be."

Kurt studied him for a moment, but his face gave nothing away. It was probably a lost battle, and Kurt didn't want to push. Deciding they could address that issue another day, he sighed and forced his lips into a smile for Blaine's sake.

"Alright then, what's this surprise you have planned?" he asked.

That must have done the trick because Blaine looked up at him and smiled.

"Follow me," he said, his eyebrows waggling as he smirked wickedly.

"Should I be worried?"

"Just trust me, will you?" he said, taking Kurt's hand in his and tugging him toward the front gate. They crossed the street and walked along the western side of the Hotel Alcazar. Blaine led him around to the back of the building and up a steep flight of stairs that led to the entrance to the hotel's entertainment complex, the Casino.

Blaine's hand closed around the door handle and pulled, but the door remained steadfastly in place.

"Is it closed?" Kurt asked, knowing the answer before the question had even fully formed. He had quickly learned that St. Augustine kept much different hours than New York. "I keep forgetting we're not in New York."

"I didn't know bathhouses closed," Blaine replied.

Kurt shrugged, he really wasn't all that familiar with bathhouses, and didn't know if Blaine knew the sorts of things he had heard about the ones in New York, so he stayed silent.

"I have an idea," Blaine said suddenly, "but you have to trust me."

Kurt blinked, considering the idea. It was the second time that night that Blaine had asked for his trust. Did he trust Blaine? In truth, they had only just met, and even if the things he had heard about Blaine's lifestyle were true, there was a part of him that didn't really mind. He knew plenty of men who did worse things than Blaine had been accused of. It didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have. In fact, it didn't bother him at all.

Blaine reached out his hand and smiled at Kurt, and in that instant, in the warm sunshine of Blaine's smile, he decided he would follow anywhere this man would lead him – even if it meant charging headlong off a cliff to his death. He trusted Blaine Anderson with his life.

He didn't reply, he simply put his hand in Blaine's and let himself be pulled around to the front of the building and into the hotel's lobby. Blaine marched right up to the front desk and rang the bell as if it were perfectly normal to expect service at this hour. The sound echoed brightly through the dimly lit room, and for several moments no one appeared.

When Kurt was about to suggest that they just head back to the Ponce to play billiards, a short, uniformed man with thinning hair rounded the corner and said, "Welcome to the Alcazar," he said. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"I seem to have left my pocket watch in one of the changing rooms in the Casino," Blaine said.

"I'm sorry, sir, but no one has turned anything in," the man behind the desk said.

"Might I borrow the key so that I can retrieve it? It's very important to me." Blaine paused and smiled, it was a charm that Kurt was quickly learning Blaine could turn on and off at a moment's notice.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but the Casino is closed for the evening. I can leave a note for the morning staff to be on the lookout–"

"That won't do," Blaine said. "It's a family heirloom, and if I lose it, my mother will never forgive me."

The man began to look flustered, his sympathy getting the better of him. Kurt admired Blaine's acting ability and had an idea.

"Perhaps we could speak with the manager," Kurt said.

"He's gone home for the evening, but I'm sure he'd say the same thing," the man reassured.

"Mr..." Kurt began.

"Robertson, sir."

"Mr. Robertson, certainly you understand our predicament. My friend Mr. Anderson is staying with his grandfather, Dr. Andrew Anderson — surely you know him."

"Yes, of course, sir. Everyone knows Dr. Anderson."

"Yes, well, I'm sure the manager wouldn't mind if you let Dr. Anderson's grandson search the changing rooms for a family heirloom."

"Mr. Anderson," Robertson said, turning to Blaine, "I would gladly let you search the changing rooms, but I'm the only one on duty, and I'm not allowed to leave my post."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of asking you to risk your job," Blaine said, looking genuinely concerned for the young man's employment, although Kurt doubted his sincerity. "But surely you could let us borrow the key. You know I come from a good family, and Mr. Hummel is a guest at the Ponce. Certainly you can make an exception."

"Well, I–"

Blaine pulled two one-dollar silver pieces from his pocket and discreetly laid them on the counter. "Please," Blaine said.

Mr. Robertson's eyes went wide. Kurt could scarcely believe it. That was likely more money than he'd held in his hand that day — it was more money than Kurt had on his person at that very moment — but Blaine didn't even blink.

"I'll see if I can find the spare key," Mr. Robertson said, scooping up the coins and pocketing them swiftly.

When he was out of earshot, Kurt said, "I think you've ruined the poor man. His wife is going to think he's been robbing the hotel safe."

"Nonsense," Blaine said with a wave of his hand. "It's just a couple silver pieces."

"I bet it's more than that man makes in a week," Kurt said.

Blaine looked at him aghast.

"Do you really have no concept of money?" Kurt asked. Blaine hadn't struck him as the type to throw money around, but perhaps he had misjudged.

"I just didn't consider it to be a problem," Blaine said. "He has the key, and we need the key. I had two dollars to spare, and as it turns out, he needed the money."

His point was not lost on Kurt, but he wasn't entirely sure he understood Blaine's nonchalance about throwing his money around. Before he could voice his concerns, however, Mr. Robertson had returned with the key to the baths and a nervous look on his face.

"Mr. Anderson, I'm sure you wouldn't do anything dishonest or untoward, but I could lose my job, and–"

"Mr. Robertson," Kurt said. "We're going to look for the pocket watch and then bring the key right back to you. You have my word."

"As a gentleman," Blaine added.

"As a–?" A sharp elbow in his side from Blaine aborted his questioning words. Kurt simply stared at him, unsure what to say.

Mr. Robertson reluctantly gave them the key and pointed to a hallway behind him.

"You can use the staff entrance," he said. "But you need to bring that key right back."

"We will," Kurt reassured, not entirely certain of what Blaine had in mind, but fully intending to keep his word.

Blaine simply grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the hallway that Mr. Robertson had indicated.

"Why did you tell that man I was a gentleman?" Kurt asked when they were far enough away to not be overheard.

"Because you are," Blaine said, ushering Kurt through a large door marked "Alcazar and Casino staff only."

"I'm just an engineer's son," Kurt said.

The door closed behind them and they were swathed in darkness.

"Well, you look like a gentleman."

Kurt looked down at his body, even though he could no longer make out details in the dim light, and suddenly remembered he was still wearing his most formal suit.

"I–"

Blaine stopped short and turned to face Kurt in the darkened hallway, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. "You need to start acting the part, Kurt. No one will know but you that you don't belong unless you tell them."

Kurt nodded, just barely able to make out the golden irises of Blaine's eyes.

"Now, I just need to find..." Blaine said twirling about as his eyes roved the walls. "The lights!" he exclaimed as he pushed the switch.

Suddenly the room was awash in soft, yellow light.

"I still can't get over that," Kurt said, gazing around in awe. "We don't have electricity in our house."

"I thought everyone in New York had been wired for electric lights," Blaine said, looking more curious than shocked.

"Not everyone," Kurt muttered almost under his breath. "I'm still afraid to turn them on."

Blaine gawked at him.

"We have an attendant to do that for us at the Ponce," Kurt said.

Laughter echoed around the ballroom. "You have an att– Kurt. That's–"

"Ridiculous?" Kurt said. "I know." He knew it was silly of him, the son of an electrical engineer, to fear the tiny button that you pushed to engage the lights, but he had heard stories from his father of men being killed after touching electricity, and the very thought terrified him.

"No, it's not," Blaine said. "I was going to say, that's the most charming thing I've ever heard."

Kurt was glad that only some of the Casino's hundreds of electric lights were lit, because if it had been any brighter, surely Blaine would have seen the high flush that now colored his cheeks. Blaine held his gaze for a moment, and the air seemed to thicken between them. It was a feeling Kurt had never experienced before — this overwhelming sensation that something important and possibly life-changing was about to happen — and he wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but he could see that Blaine's breathing was becoming labored, and he could feel his own heart racing.

"We should get the key back," Kurt blurted.

"Right... yes, of course."

Kurt made to return the way they had come, but Blaine was still looking around.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked.

"Trying to find the exterior door we tried earlier," Blaine said. "It should be on the south side of the building. I've gotten so turned around." He spun around a few times and drew a winding line in the air. "Should be.... That way," he said, pointing over Kurt's shoulder.

They walked down a level to the pool area, and found a locked door that led to the outside. Blaine used the key Mr. Robertson had given them and found that it worked on this door as well. He grinned over his shoulder at Kurt and left the door unlocked.

"Now we can give our dear Mr. Robertson his key."

Finally Kurt understood what Blaine meant to do.

"You are positively wicked, Blaine Anderson."

"I've been called worse." He winked then, beckoning Kurt to follow him back to the lobby.

Retreating down the dark hallway again, Kurt smiled to himself. Blaine was an enigma: the perfect gentleman in public and an absolute scamp in private. The excitement he felt just being around this man was enough to make his palms sweat and his heart thump wildly in his chest.

As they reemerged in the lobby, Kurt realized he had no idea what Blaine was going to say about the watch, but before he could ask, Mr. Robertson appeared in front of them.

"There you are," he said. "Did you find your watch, sir?"

"Yes, I did," Blaine said, tugging his watch chain from his pocket. "Right where I left it. Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Robertson."

"My pleasure, Mr. Anderson. Good evening to you both."

Kurt turned away, concealing his face behind a potted palm and biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He soon felt a tug on his sleeve and followed Blaine from the lobby and around to the exterior door leading to the Casino, now blissfully unlocked.

Blaine smiled wickedly as he led Kurt inside, the room still lit dimly by the upper level's electric lights and glinting off the still water of the swimming pool. Kurt finally had the chance to look around and take it all in. This was, after all, his first trip to the Casino and he wanted to remember it.

The water in the pool looked ominous in the low light, and although Kurt knew it was warm, a steady 80 degrees, it looked cold and unforgiving. The sulfur smell was weaker than he had expected, having heard it was as offensive as the fountain in the courtyard, but maybe Kurt's nose had gotten used to the smell because Blaine's nose crinkled as he inhaled.

"Well, at least it's warm," he said, stepping closer to Kurt, who suddenly felt warm himself.

"Did you know the water in the pool comes from an artesian well that's nearly 1,500 feet deep? Oh and look, there's the private women's pool," he said, pointing out the area to one side where women could swim more discreetly. "Rachel would like that. She always says it's best if a lady keeps her womanly figure well hidden and only reveals it to her husband." Kurt knew he was rambling but he couldn't stop it. "My mother always said it's healthy for a woman to bare her ankles every now and again. We used to go to the seashore and stick our toes in the sand every year once it got warm enough."

"Kurt..." Blaine interrupted finally.

"Yes?"

Kurt glanced back at Blaine who pointed to his feet. Kurt looked down and realized he was standing very close to the pool now, his toes precariously hanging over the edge, and he reeled back so suddenly he almost fell in.

Blaine's laughter echoed through the Casino, and once Kurt's heart left his throat, he joined in.

"I should have just let you fall in," Blaine said as he tried to catch his breath.

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh wouldn't I?" Blaine teased, inching slowly closer to Kurt his hands outstretched as if he were going to push Kurt in the calm water.

"No," Kurt said, crossing his arms resolutely over his chest. Somehow he knew that Blaine wouldn't really, not at least without Kurt taking Blaine with him.

"You're right," Blaine said, lowering his arms. "I couldn't bring myself to ruin such an expertly tailored suit." He gestured up and down Kurt's body.

"I fitted it myself," Kurt said proudly.

Blaine raised an eyebrow and looked impressed.

"I make all my own clothes, usually," Kurt said, "but when we found out we were coming here, I needed a more formal suit for dinner. So I tailored this one from Rachel's father's things."

"You did an exquisite job," Blaine said, reaching out to feel the fabric.

Kurt's heart raced, and he wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he thought he could feel Blaine's touch through two layers of cotton and wool. It burned like fire and sent a jolt through his body in a not at all unpleasant way. Blaine let his hand linger a second too long and then drew it back too suddenly. Kurt couldn't meet his eye. He was afraid what he was feeling would be written all over his face. Instead he turned and let his eyes roam the room.

"So should we go swimming?" he said. "Or did you have something else in mind?"

Blaine cleared his throat loudly. "Um... well, I thought that... Well, that is..." he stammered.

"Yes?" Kurt said, spinning around to look at Blaine.

"Well, would you perhaps like to try the Russian baths?"

"Can we do that without someone to control the steam?"

"I've seen it done," Blaine said. "Their system can't be too much different than the one at Everard's."

"Everard's?" he said, shocked that Blaine might be familiar with that place. "The one in New York?"

"You've been there?" Blaine asked, swallowing hard as his golden eyes rounded in shock.

"Well, I've heard of it," Kurt said, fidgeting nervously. He knew what sorts of things were rumored to go on at the Everard baths, and he could scarcely believe what Blaine was implying.

"Kurt, I..." Blaine trailed off.

"It's okay. I um... I won't tell," he said.

At Kurt's words, Blaine's face fell, and he looked disappointed somehow. Kurt didn't want him thinking that he was against that sort of lifestyle, but he wasn't sure what to say. What if Blaine assumed he was interested? What if he was? "And I won't judge," he added hastily.

Blaine blinked at him for a few moments, as if he were weighing his words carefully before he spoke.

"You don't think less of me?" he asked finally.

Kurt considered his question for a moment. He definitely didn't think there was anything wrong with Blaine dallying with men. He wasn't disgusted by it, nor did he think it a sin against God or nature.

"I think you're still the same man you were five minutes ago," Kurt said smiling. "And I think I'd still like to try those steam baths."

Blaine looked shocked for a moment before his mouth broke into a huge grin.

"I knew I'd win you over," Blaine said.

"Oh, stop," Kurt said. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be begging Mr. Robertson for the key to this place."

"Very true," Blaine said as he led the way to the dressing rooms. "You're my partner in crime now, Kurt. No escaping. If I end up in jail, you will too."

Kurt laughed and shoved playfully at Blaine's shoulder, ignoring the frantic fluttering of his insides as they bantered with one another. But the idea flitted about in his mind while they both changed into their towels and Blaine set about adding water and coal to the steamer. His peculiar reactions to Blaine's presence were tallied on a mental list as Kurt tried to fit the puzzle pieces together in his mind.

Perhaps his nervousness every time he was in the same room as Blaine was more than just excitement at making a new friend. What if Kurt was the same as Blaine: a man who preferred the company of other men, and a strong muscled torso to the curve of a delicate hip? That would easily explain why he loved Rachel but did not have the desire to undress her and have his way with her the way other men professed to want to do with their fiancées. It all seemed to fit, but Kurt couldn't understand why he hadn't considered it before.

When he stepped into the steam bath, the room was already obscured with thick moisture and he could barely see the walls, let alone make out Blaine's small shape among the mist.

"Kurt?"

"Where are you?"

"Follow my voice," Blaine said.

Kurt made his way across the room carefully, gripping his towel tightly around his waist as his heartbeat thudded in his ears. When Blaine's face came into view, Kurt could see his trepidation plain on his features, and somehow that made Kurt relax a little.

He sat down on a stone bench next to Blaine and allowed himself to lean back against the wall, his breath leaving his body in a rush as he exhaled. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, but Kurt was too lost in his own thoughts to mind. He breathed deeply, letting the warm steam envelop him; it seemed to permeate his skin and pull his thoughts from his body, one agonizing revelation at a time.

In some part of his mind, Kurt had always known he wasn't attracted to women. It was one of the reasons he had asked Rachel to marry him; she never judged him or questioned him when he didn't share the same interests as boys his own age. She simply complimented him on not being like "those other boys" and told him he was better than all of them because of it.

He smiled thinking of Rachel. Sweet, loving, loud, and very, very bossy, Rachel. He sighed and turned his head to face Blaine.

"This is wonderful," he said, watching Blaine's face carefully.

It took a second or two, first a twitch and a slight furrowing of his brow, but then Blaine's lips curled up, and his eyes crinkled and he was smiling at Kurt, just like he had before. Everything suddenly felt right. Like he was meant to always look on Kurt with such affection. He tried to give Blaine his most reassuring look, but wasn't sure it came across because Blaine closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the slick marble. Kurt continued to study Blaine's face, hoping for a sign, anything that might tell him what Blaine was thinking. Kurt ached with desire to know, and he opened his mouth several times to ask before clamping it shut.

When Blaine reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, Kurt watched as the muscles of his arm flexed with the movement. When Blaine returned his hand to his lap, Kurt studied his torso while it rose and fell with his breath. Blaine's midsection was defined but lacked the kind of bulky muscles his father had from working with heavy machinery his whole life. Blaine's body was well cared for, but he was built like a man who hadn't needed to work and only got his exercise from sporting activities. His skin was a deeper shade than Kurt's own, and he found it intrigued him.

Kurt's breath began to come in shallow pants as he lowered his eyes to Blaine's towel and quickly averted his gaze to the man's bare legs. A dark swath of hair peppered his thighs and Kurt could just barely make out the outline of Blaine's feet.

He was just a man, Kurt decided, but he was most definitely more interested in Blaine's angular body than he was in Rachel's more rounded one.

"I can practically hear you thinking," Blaine said without opening his eyes.

Kurt inhaled slowly and let his breath out slower still.

"It's just what you said earlier..."

Blaine opened one eye and turned his head to face Kurt.

"About the argument with your grandfather," Kurt continued, "and then what you said about the baths."

Blaine raised his eyebrow.

"Were they related?" Kurt asked, his voice coming out breathy and high.

Blaine closed his eye again and took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"So you...?"

"Enjoy the company of men, yes."

"And your grandfather doesn't approve?"

Blaine's eyes flew open and he leveled Kurt with a chastising look.

"Of course he doesn't approve," Blaine said, making Kurt feeling stupid and very small for a moment.

"What I meant to say is... he knows?" Kurt clarified.

"He's heard idle gossip," Blaine said. "He's just worried about what other people will say."

Kurt nodded slowly. He knew all too well the damage idle chatter could do. He'd seen it ruin more than one life even among his small social circle.

Kurt paused and considered Blaine for a moment. What if there had been gossip about him and Blaine? Maybe others had seen what he hadn't.

"Do you think I'm like you?" Kurt asked, unsure where his sudden boldness was coming from.

Blaine turned his body to face Kurt fully. His knee brushed Kurt's, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Are you?" Blaine asked. His eyes flickered with something indefinable. Kurt considered his question for a moment.

"I'm not sure," Kurt said honestly. "How does one know for sure?"

Blaine studied Kurt's face for a moment, his eyes open and earnest, like he was deciding something.

"You could let me kiss you," Blaine said finally.

Kurt's intake of breath sounded magnified in the quiet steam room.

"I..." he began.

"Just one kiss," Blaine whispered, his face inching closer to Kurt's. "If you don't like it, I swear I'll never speak of it again."

Kurt could feel Blaine's breath hot on his face, somehow warmer than the steam around them and his eyes fluttered closed. He could hear nothing but his own breathing and the steady thump of his heart. He wondered if Blaine could hear it too.

"Kurt?"

He wasn't entirely sure what Blaine was asking, but he nodded, refusing to open his eyes. He couldn't explain it, but he suddenly needed Blaine to kiss him; he needed to know if what he was feeling was true. If it was simply a passing fancy or a life-altering fact.

But then Blaine's lips were touching his, and nothing else mattered. Kurt felt as if he was finally getting the first true breath of his life, a giant gulp of air that made its way through every part of his body in one single instant. As his hand shot up to touch Blaine's face and will him closer, Kurt swore he could feel a chuckle deep in Blaine's chest as it struggled to get out, but he didn't care. He wanted more, forever and always. He wanted this man like nothing he'd ever desired before.

That realization struck him like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head and he pulled back suddenly. He slapped his hand over his mouth and stared wide-eyed at Blaine.

"Kurt," Blaine began, laying a warm hand on Kurt's bare shoulder. "I'm sorry. Are you–"

Kurt held up a hand to silence him.

"It's fine," he said. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Shall we try it again?" Blaine asked, looking equal parts anxious and hopeful.

Kurt nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Blaine leaned forward to kiss him once more. This time Kurt was prepared for it and took the opportunity to consider the feeling of Blaine's mouth on his. It felt soft and strong in a way he hadn't quite expected, but yet it didn't shock him, as if that was exactly how he had expected Blaine's lips to feel.

When Blaine's hand came up to rest on the back of Kurt's neck, he leaned into it, savoring the gentle touch and willing it to go on forever. But all too soon, Blaine was pulling away and Kurt was opening his eyes and they were staring at each other as if it were the first time they had really seen each other. Perhaps it was.

"That was..." Kurt said.

"Perfect."

"It was."

"So tell me, Kurt," Blaine said. "Do you know for sure now?"

"Know what?" Kurt asked, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.

"If you're like me."

"What do you think?" Kurt said, and leaned in to kiss Blaine again.