Work is work. It's easy to fall into the swing of things when he's filming all fifteen agreed upon videos in succession over the next six weeks.

According to Santana, the website wants him exclusively for at least the next year; knowing Santana, her recommendation for or against will depend entirely on how much they're willing to pay.

He's got until the week of shooting the last video to decide before the offer is gone. And the offer is tempting. Though his popularity has led to steady work and he's repeated partners and producers, directors, makeup artists, locations, et cetera, he's never had a contract to guarantee steady employment. While the idea of knowing what he'll be doing twelve months down the line kills the air of spontaneity lingering around his choices, he'd be a fool not to see the advantage of contractual job security.

His first scene for the website is a poolside gangbang they've all been laughing off as his “initiation.” Orgies are not his particular cup of tea, but it's gratifying nonetheless to put his body in the hands of others, to feel full and used, to be dirty and wanted.

Porn is incredibly stress-relieving, he's learned. Directors are pretty specific, and even if he is occasionally treated more like a prop than a person, he knows exactly what's expected of him; there are few ways to fail if you're paying attention, and it's been years since Kurt's come too soon. Work, a focus on bending the right way and moaning when needed, on licking and kissing and sucking, on reacting to the ways he's poked and prodded, distracts him easily from life off set.

Kurt knows few of the men he's works with, though some are familiar with one another and they're chatty. He supposes that could be another mark in the pro column. Fraternization is sometimes frowned upon before a shoot, just in case the actors clash and the sex is compromised, but here no one seems to care.

:: ::

During the fifth week and twelfth shoot, Kurt meets Blaine and promptly remembers another reason why no fraternization is advised: sometimes it has the opposite effect.

Kurt is a consummate professional, never late and always eager, but L.A. traffic was a bitch this morning and one should never say never.

When he pulls up to a rented mansion he's filmed in before, it's a half hour after his 10 a.m. call time and he's muttering under his breath.

“I'm sorry!” he calls out to no one in particular, passing various members of the production crew en route to the kitchen where he's supposed to meet with the director.

“It's not the first time someone's shown up late on set.”

Kurt spins on his heel and sees a man with deliberately mussed curls and an easy smile. There's some gray-infused scruff around that smile and Kurt is close to swooning. Much as he experiences physical intimacy his love life is all but dead and buried.

This man is absolutely gorgeous, the right age but he's dressed like a kindergarten teacher, and he's too short, Kurt thinks. Too bad, I would call this guy ‘daddy' any day if he asked me nicely. “It's my first time being late to set.”

“It happens.” The man holds out his hand and Kurt shakes it briefly. “Nice to meet you, Kurt. It's gonna be a long day, but I think we'll have fun.”

Getting the distinct impression he's being flirted with, Kurt looks down and away, before realizing, “You know my name, but I don't know yours.”

“It's Blaine.”

“Blaine,” he repeats dumbly.

“Mmhmm.” God, even the sound of him humming is sexy.

“I should go. Late. Gotta get changed.”

Blaine nods and Kurt stumbles toward the kitchen, mortified and blushing. Santana's unexpectedly waiting there with the director, Jared, when he walks in apologizing all over.

“Save it, Porcelain. There's a change in the plan for today.” Santana smirks. “If you're up for it, that is.”

Kurt looks between them, waiting for an explanation considering he hadn't even heard the original plan yet, as both turn to look as someone else enters.

“Kurt this is Blaine,” announces Jared.

“We've met,” Kurt utters. Blaine smiles like there's a secret behind it, but says nothing.

“Good,” Jared continues. “Santana said you might be hesitant, but Blaine here is an experienced dom –” Santana smirks, even harder if possible, as Kurt tries to hide that he's taken aback “– and we'd like to try adding some light to moderate bondage to the scene.”

All eyes are on Kurt, who is just now realizing Blaine actually is his daddy for the day. “Um…” he's not great with being bound, but he's curious to see what the little man in the bowtie can do. “Sure, something light,” he finds himself agreeing.

“Great. Get undressed. Find Maggie, she'll touch you up. Then we need you in the foyer for promo pics. Blaine's an old pro and he'll be calling most the shots with you today, so if you have questions ask him now.” And Jared is off, presumably to get the crew moving.

:: ::

After pulling Santana aside and calling bullshit because she definitely knew about this days ago, Kurt undresses in a designated bedroom then primps himself a bit in the adjoining bathroom.

“Any questions?” Blaine asks from the doorway. He's no longer wearing a bowtie, nor his cardigan, nor a shirt, and his chest is on full display. His shoes are off, and his pants are different, tight and leaving nothing to the imagination. Kurt is no stranger to feeling attraction toward the men he works with, but attraction is simply a pull and Blaine is just a guy. So far, all of his “daddies” have looked the part, have been bigger and burlier and sometimes beer-bellied. Blaine is trim and well-groomed, even if his chest is fairly hairy. Blaine has a cute little pooch, but otherwise no body fat to speak of. He seems out of place and Kurt is intrigued. This is a rare moment for him, one in which he is exceedingly thankful to fate for leading him down this path, because this man, Blaine, is going to bury himself deep within Kurt, is going to make Kurt beg and plead, is going to dominate him, and Kurt is overcome with immediate need for that to happen.

Panting his way back into the moment, he catches eyes with Blaine whose pupils are as dilated as his own probably are.

Blaine steps in and closes the door behind himself. If not for his extensive familiarity with the production of pornography, he'd think he just stepped into one.

But there are no cameras here. No one telling him where to look or what to do. No extraneous persons. Just him. And Blaine. And Blaine is getting awfully close. And Blaine is kissing him.

This is new. His heart is pounding in his chest, the same chest rubbing against the thick, trimmed hairs of Blaine's bare body. He's delirious with want. Blaine's fingers are firm and persistent in his hair and on his hip. He was hard before Blaine even closed the door, but now he's aching, fully naked and wishing Blaine's pants would disappear. Coming up for air is a necessity on his end, but Blaine just keeps going, sucking hard on the skin of his neck, moving around so as not to leave a mark. And Kurt is rutting against him, like a virgin to the feeling, clawing at Blaine's back to hold him close.

Blaine is working his way down Kurt's body, biting a nipple to hear the sharp hiss it elicits and then soothing it over with an expert tongue.

Knocking on the door is a dull sound that grows sharper when Blaine pulls away from him.

“Where are you going?” Kurt slurs, grasping at Blaine's retreating form. Blaine chuckles, coming in for one last kiss before he opens the door.

Jared looks both stern and amused when he takes in the sight of Kurt, flushed and dazed, leaning on the sink for support, the sight of Blaine looking all too pleased with himself. “Cute, but the rest of us are working out here. Care to join?”

Kurt bites his lip and nods, shaking out his nerves and sliding into work mode.

:: ::

Kurt is dressed in simple clothes he'll soon be stripped of, waiting halfway down a staircase in the foyer so they can film the intro.

A large, circular couch sits low to the ground in the center of the room, dragged in from elsewhere for the scene. His focus keeps returning to the couch and the feeling of Blaine pressing him into it from behind. He pushes everything aside and continues waiting for his cue.

After posing for the promotional pictures that will be posted alongside the video, Kurt's whole body is thrumming to be reconnected with Blaine. Before they started, Jared shared the premise: Blaine is a landscaper/gardener/who cares and Kurt is the homeowner's bratty teen; they meet, they snark, they fuck, that's what matters. They posed in ten different positions, only three of which will be chosen to post, and all of which they will soon reenact – without interruption this time.

The short break that followed was enough time to change into his costume, fix his hair, drink a bottle of water, convince Santana to leave, and get ahold of his hormones.

Determined to be the professional he always is, he reminds himself this is work and takes a deep breath.

Jared gives the word and filming begins.

:: ::

“Excuse me,” Kurt scoffs, descending the staircase as Blaine enters the room holding a bottle of water.

Blaine raises an eyebrow in question.

“What the hell's going on here?”

Blaine gives a little shake to the drink in his hand, “Came in to cool off.”

“The front door's not for the help.”

“Is that so,” Blaine chuckles.

Kurt stands at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed and scowling.

“I'm going to tell my mother about this.”

Blaine nods slowly, approaching Kurt.

“Anyone ever tell you no one likes a tattletale, kid?”

Kurt rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a kid.”

“You're a brat. A bratty kid who could be a little more polite.”

Blaine backs Kurt against the railing.

Kurt trembles, but challenges Blaine nonetheless. “Oh yeah,” he starts. “What are you gonna do about it?”

:: ::

Blaine's grunted words of praise are echoed in the grip tightening in Kurt's hair and the hips thrusting evermore mercilessly before his kneeling body. Kurt's hands strain against their leather bindings in need of touch. It's torture. And from head to toe, Kurt is tingling with want for more.

Were it not for Jared's occasional input, he'd be completely lost to the feeling.

Blaine pulls him up to stand and force his face down over the side of the couch. He should be more vocal, he knows, begging his daddy for more, telling him how good it feels, but Blaine is kneading his cheeks and rutting against his hole, and when a hand begins landing one hard smack after another, any and all words get buried in the back of his burning throat.

He lets Blaine guide him through the next few hours of recreating their earlier poses, happy in his hands. Blaine is tireless and teasing, and Kurt is desperately aching before they're even horizontal.

Dizzy with lust, Kurt is thrown to the cushions, feeling Blaine's arm hook under his thigh and the rough intrusion of gratification. Holding onto his binding like reigns, Blaine rides him into the makeshift bed.

Kurt is spent by the time he's allowed to come four positions later, slumping down on top of Blaine, who wraps his arms around Kurt's back and strokes lazy circles into his skin. Blaine undoes the belt tied around Kurt's wrists and flips them so Kurt is laying on his back. He sighs at the relief of no longer having to hold himself up. Blaine kisses him then as he comes over Kurt's belly; Kurt is too tired to put in much effort, but Blaine doesn't seem to mind, brushing back the drooping hair from Kurt's face and kissing him slow and intent.

Kurt knows the cameramen are still filming, but it no longer feels like part of the scene.

:: ::

When Kurt leaves the house freshly showered and sated, check in hand, Blaine is waiting by his car. The older man is back to his original outfit, which Kurt now thinks is purposely misleading because Blaine is a hell of a lot less dapper when he's getting his dick sucked.

“Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?”

The question comes as a shock, albeit a minor one. Lots of guys proposition Kurt, it comes with the territory, but they rarely suggest dinner first.

“I would like that, but my ass is practically on fire and I think I'm just going to head home and ice my everything for the next three weeks to a month.”

Blaine laughs, and accepts the decline with no further pushing. As it turns out, seeing Blaine walk away is a bit upsetting, so Kurt calls out for him to stop.

“I'm likely to be much less dramatic about it tomorrow around noon, if you wanted to grab lunch instead.”

Blaine perks up and Kurt feels a little surge of pride at pleasing the man. “I'd like that,” he tells Kurt.

Kurt types his number into Blaine's proffered phone, takes a picture of Blaine, and texts it to himself. “Something to remember you by, in case you forget to call,” he teases, handing Blaine's phone back.

“I'll call,” Blaine promises.

“Please do,” Kurt responds, climbing into his car and wincing from the pain of a long day's work.

“I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not,” Blaine scrunches up his face and looks strangely, cutely juvenile. Kurt flips him off and closes the door in his face, smiling all the while. He gives Blaine a little wave and a “call me,” then reverses down the driveway.