Chapter 2

When they pull into the parking lot at Shades, Blaine's heart is pounding so madly, he's certain Cooper can hear it from the driver's seat.

"What's your problem, Blaine?" Cooper asks. "It's gonna be fun."

His enthusiasm does little to calm Blaine's nerves.

"You know I'm not really into this sort of thing, Coop. It just doesn't feel right ogling half-naked men."

"You watch porn, little brother. I'm pretty sure there's naked men involved."

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Well, for one, it's private," Blaine says. "And two … well, it just is. It's different. Can we drop it?"

Cooper is holding back laughter when he quietly says, "Sure, B. Whatever you say. You're the birthday boy."

Blaine puts his hand on the door planning to exit the car. He stops short and turns back to face his brother in the driver's seat.

"Just no lap dances, OK?" he pleads.

"You wound me," Cooper replies. "Here I am trying to do a nice thing for my baby brother on his first 'legal' birthday and he's being totally ungrateful."

Blaine just rolls his eyes. "Can we just go in and get this over with? The sooner this night is over, the sooner I can start regaining my dignity."

"Way to be grateful, Blaine. You always were a brat. I remember when I first saw you in the hospital the day you were born. Mom let me hold you and you threw up all over me. On your fifth birthday you threw a fit in the ball pit at Chuck E Cheese and I had to climb in to rescue you. I missed out on the last slice of pepperoni because of you. And last year there was that girl at the Gap who you told I had syphilis. When I asked her for her number, she called me a pervert and walked away. The way I see it, you oweme."

"So let me get this straight," Blaine says, smirking a little. "You want me to pay you back for a lifetime of bratty little brother behavior by taking meto a gay strip club? You're a sick man, Cooper Anderson. Sick."

"Yeah, but you still love me, Blainers…come on…admit it," Cooper says grinning like a madman. He reaches over to try to ruffle his brother's hair, but Blaine ducks out of the way just in time.

"Watch the hair!" he says, managing to look like an angry puppy in the process. He hates his stupid face sometimes. He knows no one ever takes him seriously when he's angry. It just doesn't fit his face.

"Right. Wouldn't want to mess up the coif," Cooper teases, opening his car door with a dramatic, affected sigh. "As if I could get my hand through that gel helmet anyway."

Blaine follows reluctantly, glaring at Cooper, as they head toward the front door. There's already a line forming, which boosts Blaine's mood slightly. A line means two things: a bigger crowd to get lost in and a stronger likelihood that at least one of the dancers is actually hot.

He would never admit it to Cooper, but he kind of hopes it's more to do with the second one.

Blaine glances up at the bouncer checking his ID and smiles. The man has a typical bouncer's build, the kind where you can't tell where his shoulders end and his neck begins. Blaine swallows hard and says, "Hi, it's my birthday. My brother brought me."

The bouncer smiles and hands back Blaine's ID.

"Have fun," he says with a dismissive laugh.

Blaine walks up to Cooper who is waiting just inside the door and says, "Well that wasn't embarrassing at all. I might as well have said, 'I carried a watermelon.' Smooth."

"Will you stop being such an old man for five minutes? You need to relax. This is supposed to be fun, remember?" Cooper says. "I'm going to get a drink. You want a coke or something?"

"Sure. I'll find us a table," Blaine says. "In the back," he adds mentally.

He looks around the dark room and sees a small table in a back corner that looks empty. He weaves his way through the crowd. Suddenly he hears a song he knows well begin to play and he smiles to himself.

David Bowie's "Modern Love" is not the type of song he'd expect to hear in a club like this. Sure it's a slower cover, but it's still an odd choice. He wonders who would pick something like that to strip to.

I catch a paper boy. But things don't really change. I'm standing in the wind. But I never wave bye-bye.

When he gets to the table, he throws his jacket down on a tacky red vinyl-covered seat and takes the chair next to it, facing the stage. He starts to sing along softly to the music and glances around for Cooper.

There's no sign of life. It's just the power to charm. I'm lying in the rain. But I never wave bye-bye.

His eyes are drawn to the stage just as a spotlight hits the dancer. Blaine's feels like his stomach has dropped out and he's going down the first hill of a roller coaster. He sits up tall in his chair, leaning forward slightly.

The dancer on stage is stunning. He's nothing like the tanned, oiled-up men on the posters outside. His skin is flawless and under the stage lights it takes on an ethereal blue tint. He's thin, but his arms and torso are muscular like a dancer. His legs seem to go on for days, and then he turns around and Blaine's eyes nearly bug out of his head. Well, Blaine always was an ass man.

"Pick your chin up, Blaine. You're drooling."

Cooper sets two glasses down on the table in front of his younger brother and turns to face the stage. He turns back to Blaine.

"Interesting," he says. "Not what I would have expected."

"Huh?" Blaine says, without taking his eyes from the stage. Although, now he's managing to stare with his mouth closed.

"That guy," Cooper says pointing to the stage. "I wouldn't have figured you go for the Peter Pan type."

He does have a "never want to grow up" look about him, Blaine concedes mentally. He can't be much older than me.

"Earth to Blaine," Cooper says a little louder than necessary.

"What?" Blaine snaps, obviously annoyed. "I thought you wanted me to enjoy the show."

"So I do, little brother. By all means…" he trails off, grinning at his brother and reaching for his drink.

Blaine is riveted. He doesn't think he's seen someone move like that before. And he definitely hasn't seen anyone with such flawless skin. This guy's face looks like it could have been sculpted. His jawline is chiseled but elegant and his neck seems to go on for days. He's also managed to style his hair perfectly without looking like he's drowning in gel. Blaine self-consciously reaches up to touch his own hair.

Then the dancer grabs on to a pole in the middle of the stage and swings himself around, elegantly flipping upside down and gripping the metal with his thigh.

Blaine swallows heavily. Why is it so hot suddenly?

He doesn't even realize he's singing along again.

Never gonna fall for / modern love / walks beside me / modern love / walks on by / modern love / gets me to the church on time

The dancer slides down the pole effortlessly until his face is nearly touching the floor and he twists his body just enough so that he can grip the pole with both hands and bring his feet to the floor.

Blaine is transfixed and couldn't look away even if his pants were on fire, which in a way, they kind of are. But it's nothing compared to the fluttery feeling in his stomach, which is completely new. He's been turned on before, of course, but he's never wanted to immediately know everything about someone the second he saw them. There's just something about this guy. Blaine is absolutely, positively, 110% enthralled.

Unfortunately for Blaine this does not escape Cooper's attention.

"See something you like?"

"I…uh…"

Cooper's laughter at Blaine's reaction is cut off by the announcer: "Give it up for the fabulous Dalton!"

The crowd is cheering loudly while "Dalton" gathers up what looks like hundreds of dollars in tips. He's obviously a club favorite.

While Blaine is busy staring, Cooper stands up and says, "I'll be right back."

Blaine makes an incoherent noise something akin to "mmhmmm." Cooper laughs, shaking his head as he walks away, leaving a slack-jawed Blaine to his fantasies.

He watches as "Dalton" (which has to be a fake name because it's the name of Blaine's school) exits the stage and disappears behind a door near the bar. He feels himself exhale a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Blaine licks his lips, suddenly realizing how dry his mouth has become. He takes a long pull on his drink and tries to figure out why he's so fascinated by this dancer.

He's just … beautiful. There's no other way to describe it.

Another dancer takes the stage and some techno song Blaine doesn't recognize starts up. The guy is so stereotypically an exotic dancer, and a stark contrast from "Dalton," with his orange tan, oiled-up and hairless body, and perfect body builder physique. It's topped off with a shock of platinum blond hair. Blaine rolls his eyes at the cliché.

Without "Dalton" to keep his attention, Blaine suddenly feels uncomfortable sitting alone. He looks around anxiously for Cooper. On his third pass of the room, he looks to his right and sees Cooper walking toward him with a devilish look on his face. What has he done now?

"Come on," Cooper says nodding in the direction he's just come from. "I have a surprise for you."

"Coop, what did you do?" Blaine asks, fearing the worst.

"Just come on. I promise you won't be disappointed."

Despite his better judgment, Blaine picks up his jacket and follows Cooper toward the other side of the club. When they stop in front of a red door marked "private lounge" in small, black letters, Blaine scowls at Cooper's back.

"No way. Absolutely not! I said no lap dances. You promised."

"I did nothing of the kind, and besides, I think you'll like it." He actually winks at Blaine.

"You've got to be kidding me! I don't believe you!" Blaine throws his hands up in exasperation and then sighs. It's just so typically Cooper. So he can't stay mad. "You're nuts," he says pointing playfully at his brother.

"Completely," Cooper replies with a smile. "And I've already paid, so you can't say no. Just go in. It's not going to kill you."

"You keep saying that, but has it ever occurred to you I might actually die of embarrassment?"

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic, Blaine. You can sing a song about it on Monday at Warbler practice. But for now, you're getting a lap dance whether you like it or not."

And with a dramatic sweep of his arm, Cooper opens the red door and shoves Blaine inside. Blaine stumbles over the doorway and practically face plants into the room.

Thankfully, there's a long cushioned bench right inside the door that partially breaks his fall. He's still busy rubbing his shin when he sees Cooper duck out and call over his shoulder, "See you in 20 minutes little brother."

Blaine sighs and practically collapses onto the bench. He rests his elbows on his knees and drops his head in his hands. He can't stop the butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach. So he just focuses on not panicking.

Kurt leaves the stage after his "Modern Love" number absolutely flying. He'll never get over the adrenalin rush he gets from performing. It's the best feeling in the world, even when it's on a stage in a strip club in the middle of Ohio.

He's almost back to the dressing room when Vince calls Kurt's name from behind him.

He turns to face the bouncer and lifts an eyebrow in question.

"Someone was asking about you," he says, a wary look on his face.

"Asking how exactly?" Kurt asks.

"Um…well, it was about a private show," he says reluctantly.

"Vince, you know I don't do those," Kurt says, turning to walk away.

"Oh, I know, but well…I thought you might consider this one," Vince says.

Kurt stops and turns to face Vince again. "Why?" he asks, visibly annoyed.

"Well, it's the guy's 18th birthday,"

"So?" Kurt says, getting more irritated. Vince knows Kurt hates doing private shows. He can handle a crowd, but one-on-one dances are just too intimate, and he can usually make more money doing an actual performance on the main stage.

"He looks harmless…"

Kurt interrupts, "Sorry. Not interested."

"Kurt, it's a lot of money. A lot."

"How much is a lot, Vince?" Kurt asks skeptically.

"Let's just say you wouldn't have to take an extra shift for at least a couple weeks and you could still buy that new scarf you had your eye on as a bonus to yourself."

"Vince, that scarf costs $800," Kurt says in disbelief.

"I know," Vince confirms, nodding and smiling. He can see the wheels spinning in Kurt's mind. It's the same look he gave Vince the first night they met, when he found out how much money some of the dancers make. Kurt Hummel likes his designer clothes and there just aren't many opportunities for a high school student to make that kind of money in Lima, Ohio.

"How much exactly are we talking?" Kurt asks, still not certain.

"He said $2,500 and he'd consider more if his brother walks away happy," Vince says.

"His brother?" Kurt asks with a laugh. "Well now that's an interesting coincidence."

"I thought you'd think so. So what should I tell him?"

Kurt really does not want to do this, but that extra money means he can take some weekend nights off and keep his dad off his back a little longer while he saves up enough money to fill out his fall wardrobe.

"Kurt?"

"Give me 10 minutes," Kurt says. "I'll meet him in the private lounge."

"Will do," Vince says, grinning from ear to ear. He suddenly turns serious. "Hey, don't worry. I'll be right outside. Nothing's going to happen."

"I know," Kurt replies. "That's not what I'm worried about," he thinks to himself.

Truth is, Kurt isn't entirely comfortable with his body and he's never been anywhere near naked with another guy before. He's perfectly happy on the stage, and during a performance he can throw himself into the moment. Nothing but the dance and the song matter for those few minutes. He's not Kurt in those moments. He's playing a character, and as long as he can stay in character, he's capable of just about anything. Even a sexualized dance in his underwear to a David Bowie cover.

But just him and another person in a room? That's personal. Really really personal. And he's not sure his fragile self-esteem and romantic sensibilities can handle it.

"I'm going to have to come up with one hell of a character to get through this," Kurt says to himself in the mirror. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Heard someone is doing his first private," says a voice behind him.

Kurt turns with a death glare planted firmly on his face. He's not in the mood to be teased.

"Mike, lay off, OK?"

"Oh come on. He's kind of cute…if you like Hobbits," Mike says.

"Like it matters," Kurt says.

"It always matters, Kurt," Mike says pointedly. "I thought you didn't do privates, anyway. Why the change of heart?"

"What do you think?"

"Money?"

Kurt nods slowly.

"How much?" Mike asks, knowing it has to be a lot to sway Kurt.

"More than I could make in a month," Kurt says, choosing not to get more specific so he doesn't have to hear yet another lecture from Mike on how much more he'd make if he went tanning once and a while.

"Wow."

"Exactly. Now if you don't mind, I need to change."

"Sure," Mike says. "Word of advice…I wouldn't bother putting much on. They don't really care usually."

"Thanks. That makes me feel loads better," Kurt says sarcastically, wiping the sweat from his face and reapplying some tinted moisturizer.

Kurt actually takes Mike's advice and throws it out the window. He's always done pretty well at Shades, and in life, by bucking tradition. So instead of heading to the private lounge in his briefs and a robe, he gets completely dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a white button-up shirt. It's something he's comfortable in, and he knows himself well enough to know that if he's comfortable with what he's wearing, he can easily make it look like he's OK with everything else.

Plus, this guy is 18. Everything is a turn-on when you're 18. No need to overdo it.

Kurt takes a last look in the mirror, and when he's sure there's nothing more to be done. He heads toward the private lounge, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.