The room was clad with dirty yellow tiles, with bummed, red tiles forming a horizontal line along the walls. Furthest into the room, behind the machines covered in dried sweat and invisible germs, was the punching bag in red leather. It was so worn and used that it had several rounds of duct tape plastered at the top. It looked even bigger now with the short person standing next to it, throwing punches like his life depended on it.

"You can punch all you want," I quipped, making him stop abruptly and turn his head, "but he won't break down and cry on you."

I smirked at my own joke, but Blaine only raised his pierced eyebrow at me.

He took a couple of steps to put an arm around the bag to still it, and ended up keeping it there. His skin was glistering with sweat pearls, and�damn, diamonds had nothing on that skin. He put his weight on one leg, popping his hip out, and tilted his head to the side with a small sigh.

Did he even realize how beautiful he was? How completely gorgeously his every feature mashed together to the exterior perfection of what was�Blaine?

"Did you want something, Hummel?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

His tone didn't indicate annoyance or that he was tired of me or any of that sort of thing. It was simply uttered as a question, very much alike one traded between two friends, and it was laced with a faint curiosity and kindness.

It sounded so normal.

When I didn't answer right away, Blaine let out another sigh and turned back to the punching bag. The thin, white tank top with wet trails on the front and back clung tightly to his muscles. His arms were tan and the muscles were flexing as he continued to punch the bag with all his might. The look on his face was stern, like he had to focus immensely on the task.

"I didn't see you in chemistry today," I said finally, watching him move.

Blaine only grunted affirmatively, not missing a beat with his punches.

Something connected in my mind then, something I'd been wondering about for a while.

"Is this where you go every time you skip class?" I asked incredulously. "To go�boxing?"

"Not�every�time," Blaine retorted with a smile, stilling the bag again, this time with both of his hands. "But mostly, yeah."

"Why?"

I didn't really think of it then, why I asked to know more about it. Later I realized that it was because I was trying to figure him out. There were just so many things about the way he acted that didn't make sense, and I was intrigued by him.

Blaine frowned and broke eye contact as he went into thought, placing his gaze somewhere in the room above my head, if not further than that. He thought for quite a while, and I was almost certain he wouldn't answer me.

But then he turned back to me with a small smile. "I'll show you."

. . . . .

"Are you ready? Focus."

Blaine had his hands sprawled out on either side of the boxing sack. He was gripping it tightly, hands clad in white handwraps while he looked at me intently.

"So, I just… punch?" I asked stupidly.

Blaine, being caught off guard by my question when I stood with my hands raised and face focused, started laughing. When he saw me staring back in confusion, he silenced and cleared his throat. "You can start with a right hook."

"Right hook, okay…" I shook my right hand a little, and felt the too-big glove wiggle on my hand. I narrowed my eyes and bit my lower lip, an action which seemed to catch Blaine's attention without him even noticing it himself. But I did.

"Okay, let's do this," I muttered encouragingly under my breath. Then I tensed and pulled back my right arm, and threw it out right in front of me in full speed. My clad fist hit the bag hard, and it almost felt like my knuckles were breaking. The bag, however, didn't seem to share my opinion. It barely wobbled under my punch.

Eyes widening in surprise, I stared at the bag. I stared at it until I heard a muffled snickering erupting. I diverted my eyes and saw Blaine, the corners of his eyes crinkled and a hand pressed to his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

He removed his hand as soon as he saw me looking, though. "I'm sorry," he said while his shoulders shook with the remaining laughter, "I'm not laughing at you, just the look… the look on your… your face…" And then his mouth turned into a big grin as he let himself keep on laughing.

"Oh, stop it," I said, punching his arm.

But Blaine just kept laughing like it was the funniest thing ever.

"Are you done?" I snapped.

That seemed to get his attention, and he wiped the corner of his eye.

"Okay, what am I doing wrong?" I asked, trying to move the focus away from my lame punch.

"Nothing, really," Blaine said. "You just got to use more force, get your whole body to throw the punch, not just your arm or your hand. And you have to put your head to it." He dropped his last hand from the punching sack and walked around it until he was standing behind me.

He surprised me when he put his hands on my hips, so much that I almost stopped breathing. He seemed to notice me stiffening, and gulped audibly.

"Put your left leg in front of your body," he said, and his voice was so deep and low right next to my ear. "Put your right leg behind you, and spread them wide." By this point I wasn't sure if it was his words or his hands squeezing my hips or his breaths blowing down my neck that caused my body to send sparks through my whole body and somehow made them gather and intensify at my crotch.

In a matter of seconds, the temperature in the room had risen by a hundred degrees.

Blaine pushed his body up against my back, lining us up perfectly. And I thought I was going to pass out when he started turning his hips back and forth. "Move your hips like this," he whispered into my ear, while gently squeezing my hips with his hands to guide me through his movements.

He slowly moved his hands up my body, sliding them against the fabric of my button up and vest and up to grab my arms. The touches were so gentle yet determined that I couldn't help but to be turned on. It had been so long since someone had touched me, and that gesture felt so oddly intimate. He pulled my arms up from my sides and held on to my wrists as he went through the techniques of throwing a good punch. I have to admit that I didn't pay much attention because it all turned out like a haze of touches and caresses and gently spoken words. By the time his hands found their way back to my hips, I could swear that Blaine was starting to get hard against my ass. I was feeling extremely light-headed.

So when Blaine told me again to throw a punch, I had to blink a few times before realizing that I should probably move.

"Connect to your anger," Blaine said quietly. "Feel that undying fire deep within consume you and let go. Take all of that, and throw it on the bag. Take it out on the bag."

I did what he said, thought about Karofsky and the other bullies, thought about every time I'd been called names and pushed into lockers and thrown into dumpsters. I felt the anger build up inside me, and before I knew it, I was punching the boxing sack repeatedly, with both of my hands. When it didn't move enough, I punched it harder. I was so focused on making the sack feel as bad as I had felt that I almost didn't notice when Blaine slowly backed away from behind me.

Almost.

I immediately stopped boxing, and looked at him. He had his hands put together and resting against his mouth, almost like he was praying.

He let his hands drop. "That was great!" he said breathlessly, his eyes shining with something that looked like pride.

"You think?" I asked modestly.

"Yeah, I do." Blaine smiled at me for a minute, then turned his eyes down to his hands and started removing his handwraps. He was moving so slowly, like he was afraid that a too sudden movement would burst the bubble that had wrapped us up.

And then I understood.

"Is that why you box?" I asked carefully. "To relieve anger?"

Blaine nodded, but didn't say anything else.

I busied myself with removing my own gloves, and winced as the smell of old sweat hit my nose.

"That's why I box," Blaine concluded after a moment, still watching his hands. "I get so much crap all the time that it's the only thing that helps when hurting others doesn't." He suddenly looked up into my eyes. "I don't like hurting people, even if that's what you think. I don't like doing it, but have to do it. I just have to."

I thought of his words for a second and tried to make sense of them before realizing that I had no idea what he meant. "I don't get it," I said, feeling irritation build up inside. "You don't have to push around other people to make yourself feel better. In fact, you shouldn't. It's stuff like that that makes people feel like crap, even what makes some people commit�suicide."

Blaine sighed tiredly and went to take a seat by one of the benches. I followed and sat down next to him.

"I don't want to be bullied," Blaine confessed. "I've seen it, you know. Seen�you. I know about the jocks; they're all privileged assholes. I couldn't ever be like you, Kurt. Don't you get it? I could never live in constant fear, jump at every locker slamming shut... I wouldn't bear it. Especially not if they were coming after me, then what? I'm just supposed to take it?" Blaine shook his head. "It's not me, it's not what I do."

"I'm not asking you to do any of those things, Blaine," I said sternly, putting one of my hands above his on the bench between us. "I'm just telling you to stop going after the people that have done nothing to you."

Blaine sighed deeply, letting his shoulders slump. "If I'd stop…" he said, looking away, "they'd stop showing me respect. The jocks, I mean. I'm having a hard enough time batting them off as it is."

Is that why you were going to hand me to them?�I didn't ask.

"I don't know what to say, other than what I would do if I were you." I racked my brain, tried to think of a compromise. "If you stopped bullying the innocent, you could still stand up to the jocks. I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to punch Karofsky or Azimio in the face."

Blaine smiled even though it looked like he was trying not to.

"It could be a compromise if you, as you say, don't like hurting people," I said.

Blaine's smile faded. "I wish I could, but I can't."

"And why not?" A thought hit me then. "Is it the same reason you won't admit that you're gay?"

Blaine's head snapped up, his eyes meeting mine. They were a shade darker than they usually were. "I know I'm gay, and I'm okay with it, alright?"

"Then why aren't you out?"

"I can't be out, Kurt! I can't be bullied. If the school knew… they might call me parents. And they can't do that."

I sensed that we were getting close to the truth. "I'm guessing your parents don't know?"

Blaine scoffed and looked away, and I knew I'd gotten my answer.

"You know, when I came out to my dad, I was so scared," I said, trying to tell him it was okay. "I was scared of what he'd think or say, but in the end he just hugged me and told me he'd love me no matter what. I realized I'd just been silly worrying so much."

"Yeah, well then you were lucky," Blaine said quietly.

"You think they wouldn't be okay with it?" I asked. When Blaine didn't answer, I bit my lip. "You know, telling someone you're gay isn't just hard for you, it's hard for them too. If you think they would react badly then just remember that you gotta give them some time. I mean, I don't know about you but for me it took some time to be okay with it myself. So maybe expecting our parents to be okay with it right away isn't really fair of us."

Blaine drew a shaky breath. "What you're describing would probably be accurate for my mom," he said slowly, pausing. "But not my dad."

I instantly reached my other hand out to cup Blaine's cheek, turning his face to mine. "Does he… hit you?"

Blaine's jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth, his face hardening. "Not without reason."

"Oh, Blaine…" I shook my head, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Blaine said hollowly. Then, he surprised us both by leaning in and kissing my lips softly. He pulled back instantly with a wet smack, and he brought a hand up to trace the line of my lower lip.

"You know, when I think about it," he said, sounding less distraught than before, "I've always been really sneaky."

I couldn't help but to smile. But I wasn't left wondering for long what he meant, because he quickly leaned in to kiss me again. I responded instantly, pressing my lips harder on his and pushing myself up until I was straddling his lap. I threaded my fingers into his thick hair, ignoring that I was getting gel on my hands as my body's urges got a deeper and deeper control over me. When Blaine opened his lips under mine and cautiously poked his tongue out, I was beyond all sorts of self-control.

Blaine's hands traveled south on my back until they landed on my hips with a light squeeze. That's when I released one of my hands from the stickiness of Blaine's hair gel and brought it down on top of Blaine's hand. I took it in mine and moved it backward until it was resting right on my ass.

Blaine gave my ass a tentative squeeze without me doing anything, and the motion set sparks flying down south. My hips stuttered forward on their own, into Blaine's hips. Blaine moaned against my lips as our half-hard cocks pushed together roughly.

I broke the kiss with a low groan, breathing hard. Blaine looked up at me with dark eyes through his impossibly thick eyelashes, blinking almost innocently. Of course, his red and swollen lips didn't make him look as innocent.

When I raised my eyes slightly, my line of sight was just aligned with Blaine's eyebrow piercing. It was the same silvery one he always had and I remembered an urge I'd had before. Meeting Blaine's expectant eyes, I leaned closer, and traced the piercing hard with the tip of my tongue. It was cool and salty, and Blaine moaned at the feeling of my wet tongue on him.

If he only knew what my tongue could do, I thought smugly.

That's when the sound connected to my brain, the sound of a door slamming out in the corridor, and the sound of footsteps approaching. Blaine heard it too a second later and quickly pushed me away until I was sitting on the bench next to him, panting and wondering what just had happened.

We sat there, trying to compose ourselves while we waited. A few seconds later, Coach Beiste walked by the open doorway.

It only took a second before she was walking by again, this time backwards, and poked her head through the doorway.

"Oh, hey boys," Beiste said and smiled. "I didn't know anyone was still here." Though she looked confused to see me there, she didn't ask about it.

"Just make sure to put all the equipment back before you leave," was all she said before she left.

I looked over at Blaine, who was looking a little distant. I moved closer to him, wincing as the sweaty clothes I was wearing started to cling to my body.

"Hey," I said, putting my hand on Blaine's cheek and making his eyes meet mine. He smiled at the gesture, but it was a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I better go shower," he said, and turned his head slightly to lay a small kiss to the inside of my palm before getting up from the bench.

. . . . .

I wished that I'd been psychic, so that I could have foreseen that Blaine would ask me to box with him and know to bring a towel and an extra change of clothing. But, well, I wasn't psychic, so I ended up leaving the locker room in sweaty clothes. Blaine and I shared goodbyes, and if I'd hoped to catch a glimpse of him stripping I must've been ridiculous, because Blaine didn't start removing his clothes before he was absolutely sure I was out of the room. What a shame.

Although, I was pretty sure that I wasn't supposed to think it was a shame. I could no longer deny to myself that I wanted to see Blaine naked, and badly.

I was still thinking about him as I unlocked the front door to my house. I heard my dad in the living room, and he was talking to someone. Frowning, I closed the door behind me, trying to think of the last time Dad had brought someone over. Sure, he had friends, but usually he met them over at their houses or somewhere else. It was a rarity that he'd bring Doug or Stan over, because he knew that I didn't much enjoy when they hogged the living room TV with whatever game was on.

Walking into the living room, I was shocked to see neither Doug nor Stan there with my dad. He wasn't alone though; there was a woman with him.

"Burt…" the woman said quietly, darting her eyes to me.

That's when my dad turned and saw me, and got out of his seat. He stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. "Kurt, I'd like you to meet Carole. Her son Finn goes to your school. Do you know him?"

I shook hands with Carole, having a bad feeling in my stomach. "Rachel's boyfriend�Finn?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, Finn has a girlfriend named Rachel," Carole said softly.

"Kiddo," Dad said. "I didn't wanna tell you anythin' until I was sure, which is why I've been a bit distant lately. But I've been seein' Carole for almost four months now. Yesterday I asked her to move in. And she said yes."