Saturday, 8:29p.m. - 11:02p.m.

Pennsylvania

The country gay bar in question turned out to be a country gay club, which Kurt actually found even more depressing. The parking lot seemed far too large for the establishment itself, but there were a surprising number of cars in it anyway.  The club was nondescript and boxy, a windowless monstrosity of vinyl siding that had definitely seen better days.  It looked gray and gloomy in the moonlight, the sign identifying it as “The Silver Bullet” partially obscured by shadow.

They had actually driven by it a couple of times before realizing what it was – the sign was not lit up, and the name of the club was printed in spindly black letters.  There was absolutely nothing attention-getting about it at all.

Kurt decided that for a gay nightclub on the Pennsylvania-West Virginia border, that was probably a smart decision.

A heavy baseline was audible as they pulled into the lot, and Blaine leapt out of the car before Kurt  could even properly put it into park.

“Kurt, come on!” Blaine was fidgeting impatiently while Kurt put the top up.

“Just a minute, Blaine.  It looks like it might rain.”

Blaine sighed but waited, and as soon as Kurt joined him Blaine grabbed his hand and all but ran to the front door of the club.

It was pretty much exactly what Kurt had imagined: the techno was almost as out-of-date as the garish attempts at fashion all around them, and what the sound system lacked in clarity it made up for with a volume that made Kurt wince.  Most of the patrons were men, but there were a few women sprinkled throughout the crowd as well, ranging from the butchest of the butch to I'm just here hanging out with my gay friends, but if a lesbian hits on me it will be the most exciting thing that's happened to me all year. There were several men that might have been hipsters if their outfits had been put together with even a shred of irony in mind, and several more that dressed as if still mourning the fact that the International Male catalog was no longer in circulation.

There were a few reasonably well-dressed men as well, wearing simple but well-fitting outfits that showed a modicum of taste, if not imagination.

Kurt couldn't help smiling to himself.  He hadn't had so much fun judging a group of strangers since...well.  He knew exactly how long it had been, actually.

“I haven't seen a place like this since I left Ohio,” he observed, trying to ignore the flare of suppressed panic he felt at the admission.

“Isn't it great?” Blaine enthused, so earnest and happy that Kurt felt his discomfort melt away.

“What do you want to do first?” Kurt asked, gesturing around the room.  There was a cluster of little tables near the bar where people sat eating baskets of fries and chicken fingers alongside their brightly colored cocktails.  Two pool tables sat in a dimly lit corner, and a reasonably sized dance floor sprawled in front of a karaoke stage.

“Well, maybe some drinks and food?  And then dancing? Just a little dancing,” Blaine hastened to add before Kurt could protest.  “Just one song.”

“All right,” Kurt conceded.  “One song.”

Kurt could feel several pairs of eyes on them as they made their way to an empty table, and while he didn't doubt that a fair number of stares were directed at him, he bristled at the undeniable fact that quite a few were fixed on Blaine.  Kurt felt a surge of protectiveness rise up in his chest, and he linked arms with Blaine without a second thought.  

They sat down and perused the menus, and Kurt wondered if he'd be sorry in an hour if he ordered the chicken fingers.  It was heavier than what he usually ate on the road, but he was reluctant to trust this particular establishment to supply him with  a decent salad.  Before long, a pretty blonde waitress approached them, looking friendly but tired.

“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, her voice cool and placid.  “My name is Quinn and I'll be your waitress this evening.  Can I start you two off with anything to drink?”

“Perrier with a twist of lemon, please,” Kurt said, sounding a bit stiff even to his own ears.

“I'll have a wild turkey, straight up, and a coke back,” Blaine said casually before Quinn left to fill their orders.

Kurt's eyebrows shot up.  “Blaine!”

Blaine gave him a pointed look.  “What?  Is this my vacation, or isn't it?  God, Kurt, you're as bad as Dave!”

“I...I'm sorry,” Kurt managed, utterly flustered at being compared to one of his least favorite people alive.  “I'm just not used to seeing you this way.  I haven't seen you this way in...well, probably since college.  These days you're usually so sedate.”

“Well, I've had it up to my elbows with sedate,” Blaine said with a satisfied smirk.  “You said we were going to get out of town and just really let our hair down for once, so just look out, buddy, because my hair is coming down.”

“Does that mean you might actually use less than five pounds of gel this weekend?” Kurt asked with an innocent smile.

Blaine feigned a look of outrage, and swatted Kurt's shoulder playfully.  “Maybe.  Why not?  Dave's not here to complain about it looking to ethnic, is he?”

Kurt bit his lip and forced himself not to comment, as physically painful as it was to refrain.

Quinn returned with their drinks, and Kurt eyed his Perrier wistfully.  He glanced at the shot glass set in front of Blaine, and then met his eyes.  Blaine was beaming at him.

“All right, Quinn,” Kurt said, “I've changed my mind.  I'm going to have a margarita, and a shot of Cuervo on the side.”  

Blaine smiled and downed his shot, wincing slightly.  “And I'll have another,” he said quickly as Quinn started to leave.  She and Kurt both laughed as Blaine took a long pull on his coke.

While they waited for Quinn to return, they discussed their weekend some more.  There might be some food at the cabin, but they would have to go foraging for breakfast in the morning after they got there.  Blaine forced Kurt to admit that it was perhaps a good idea to save the granola bars he'd brought until later in the trip, since there probably wouldn't be anyplace open nearby when they arrived.

Kurt was about to launch into a bout of preemptive complaining about the quality of food they would probably encounter when they got there, when a tall man with ridiculous hair sauntered up to their table and proceeded to sit down as if he had been invited.  And he didn't even sit properly.  He swung the chair around and straddled it backward and gave them what he probably thought was a devastating smile.  

Kurt hated him instantly.

Blaine gave the man a look of polite confusion, which only caused the asshole to wink at Blaine, and caused Kurt to hate him even more.  “Well, now,” he said smoothly, “what are a couple of gorgeous city boys like yourselves doing in our humble little neck of the woods, hmm?”

Kurt managed to control the venom in his voice when he answered “minding our own business,” but his words were drowned out by Blaine, whose verbal filter seemed to have abruptly and completely disintegrated into nothing.

“Oh, well, we just wanted to get out of town for a few days because a friend of Kurt's has this cabin she said we can use, and Kurt just broke up with this guy he'd been seeing, and he figured it might be fun to....uh....” Blaine faltered in the face of Kurt's bitch glare of death.  “Um.  We, uh, just wanted to get something to eat.”

“Well, then you've come to the right place,” the man said, making himself even more comfortable.  I know this place is a bit provincial, but they do serve an excellent steak salad.”

“Sebastian, are you harassing these two gentlemen?” Quinn asked as she approached with Kurt's margarita and two shots.

“Of  course not,” the man – Sebastian – said with an oily smile.  “You know me, Quinn, I was just being friendly.”

Kurt didn't miss the iciness of Quinn's tone or the slight disgust in her eyes when she addressed Sebastian.  “Well, it's a good thing they're not all as friendly as you,” she said, and gave Kurt and Blaine pointed looks.

Kurt rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement, lighting a cigarette.  He wasn't sure how he'd managed to find a place where smoking was still allowed – let alone legal – indoors, but he pulled the supplied ashtray closer and chose not to question it.

Quinn took their orders (Kurt got the chicken fingers after all, and Blaine, much to Kurt's annoyance, ordered the steak salad) and when she left, she shot Kurt a sympathetic look.

“Hey – your name is Sebastian?” Blaine (stupid sweet polite oblivious Blaine) asked.  “I have an uncle named Sebastian.”

“Do you now?” Sebastian asked, leaning into Blaine's personal space in a way that made Kurt want to  punch him square in the face.  “Does he have a problem with breaking too many hearts?  Because if so, he and I have something in common.”  Sebastian fluttered his eyelashes with a cheeky grin.

Sebastian laughed at his own idiotic comment, and Blaine joined in politely.  Kurt took a long drag off of his cigarette and feigned laughter nastily, blowing smoke directly into Sebastian's face.

Kurt couldn't help but smirk when Sebastian winced at the onslaught of smoke, coughing slightly.

“I don't mean to be rude,” Kurt said, which was an abject lie, “but I have something I need to talk to my friend about in private.”

“I understand,” Sebastian said, attempting to assume a humble and apologetic tone..  “I didn't mean to bother you, it's just hard not to notice two such handsome and stylish men around here.  Men like you don't come in here every day, you know.”  

The insincerity was so thick it made Kurt want to retch, but Blaine was smiling shyly into his drink over the compliment.  As Sebastian stood up, he lightly stroked his hand along Blaine's shoulder.  He leaned in, so close he and Blaine were almost touching.  “You had better dance with me before you leave, tiger, or I willnever forgive you,” Sebastian very nearly purred.

Blaine looked up at Sebastian through his lashes, and Kurt found himself desperately wishing that Blaine didn't look so fucking sweet and hot and gorgeous when he did that.  “Sure,” he said with  a genuine smile.  “That sounds like fun.”

Sebastian winked at Blaine again as he sauntered away, and Kurt rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his margarita.  Blaine narrowed his eyes at him once Sebastian was far enough away not to hear them.

“That was kind of rude, Kurt.”

Kurt sighed irritably.  “Oh, for – Blaine, can't you tell when someone's hitting on you?”

“Well, so what if he was?” Blaine defended.  “He's harmless.  Your years of bar tending have just made you jaded, that's all.”

“Maybe,” Kurt conceded, eyeing Sebastian across the room.  “Or maybe they've made me especially perceptive.”

Blaine rubbed his temples like he was fighting a headache.  “Look, Kurt, would you just relax? This is supposed to be fun”

“Fine,” Kurt muttered, and lit another cigarette.

He had a bad feeling about this place.

~000~

So Blaine let him dance a little too close.  After all, it was only dancing.

He let Sebastian grind against him and chuckle hot against his ear because really, it was only flirting.  A little flirting never hurt anyone.

He did feel a few pangs of guilt, but he waved them away because they were layered under drunken clouds of joy and comfort, and he knew he wouldn't actually do anything.  He wasn't the kind of guy that would cheat on his husband.

Well.  Not with some dude he met in a bar, anyway.  Not with a stranger.

Blaine glanced over to where Kurt sat at their table, smoking yet another cigarette and drinking Perrier.  He was looking around the room, his chin tilted upward and his face set in a superior, judgmental expression.  Blaine couldn't hold back a wide, ridiculous grin.  Kurt was the best person in the world.

Kurt turned and caught Blaine's eye, tapping his wrist as if there were a watch there and giving Blaine a pointed look.  Blaine laughed and rolled his eyes.  All of Kurt's expressions were just so Kurt.  He could watch Kurt make expressions all night long.

Sebastian spun him around, maneuvering him so that his back was to Kurt.  The room was getting slightly spinny, but the music was awesome and the lights were pretty and Blaine hadn't danced like this in years. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed it.  The club had really filled up since he and Kurt had arrived there, and he loved being one of a sea of hot, sweaty bodies, united by their love of music and movement.

He couldn't tell if it was a minute or an hour later, but suddenly Kurt was beside him and he was saying something.

“What?” Blaine yelled over the music.

“I said,” Kurt repeated, raising his voice to be heard, “that I think you've had enough fun for one night.  I'm going to use the restroom and pay our tab, and then we are out of here, got it?”

“You got it!” Blaine yelled back with enthusiasm.  As he watched Kurt walk away, a strange, sudden burst of sadness hit him square in the heart.  “Wait, Kurt,” he called.  “I'll come with you!”

Kurt was too far away to hear him at that point, and before Blaine could follow him, Sebastian tugged him back and spun him around.  “Where do you think you're going?” he asked with a playful laugh.  
He spun Blaine again and again and again, and suddenly things were decidedly less fabulous.  Suddenly everything was spinning fast and violent and Blaine could barely breathe and he was too hot and he was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

“Wait.  Wait.  I....” Blaine stumbled to a stop, putting a hand on Sebastian's shoulder for support.  “I don't feel so good.”

“Let's get you some air, OK?” Sebastian asked, tightening an arm around Blaine.  His voice was concerned but there was something else underneath it too.  Something Blaine was far too sick and dizzy to think about.

Blaine closed his eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths.  “OK.  But Kurt-”

“Don't worry about Kurt,” Sebastian assured him.  We'll find him later.  Come on, OK?”

That didn't really sound exactly right, but Sebastian sounded pretty sure of himself and Blaine wasn't feeling particularly sure of anything.

“OK,” Blaine mumbled, allowing Sebastian to maneuver him through the packed club and into the parking lot.