Part Three

Dinner was served to them, nearly five hundred young men and women lining the polished tables, mostly exhausted after a long working day. Blaine pushed his food around his plate without actually eating any of it, frowning at a chip in the wooden surface. An imperfection on the face of the building's shining perfection.

"I had my first appointment today," Seth confessed, spearing a carrot on his fork and staring contemplatively at the tiny vegetable. "With a woman called Ruby Donaghue. Madame arranged it, said she always uses Ruby to break in the new ones."

"I swear to God, that woman is a nymphomaniac," Wes complained, chewing noisily. "She has three of us a week, and she's married. Quite happily, so she says. I have her on Saturdays, Jeff does her on Tuesdays and…Blaine, don't you have your appointment with Ruby on Thursdays?"

"What?" Blaine asked, dragged back into the conversation by the mention of his name. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, she's a bit bat-shit crazy, but what can you do? Just last month she gave me a hundred-pound tip, it's the most I ever made in one appointment."

"What's crawled up your ass and died?" Quincy asked, twirling a frosted blonde curl around her finger. "Seriously, you've been acting off since you got back from wherever you were last night and ignored breakfast. Was it Whitely complaining about you refusing to bottom again? Even a prostitute has his limits."

"No, I have Whitely on Wednesdays," Blaine answered. Seth chuckled softly at the alliteration while Quincy just gave him a look that demanded he elaborate. "It was nothing, just something with the client I got for myself yesterday."

"See, this is why we don't sneak out insanely early on Sundays to go pick up independent clients," Wes said seriously. "Besides, you know you only end up running into Smythe or Kings on the streets and we all know the mood that puts you into."

"They're nothing better than cheap, dirty whores who fuck strangers for their next meal," Blaine growled viciously. "And I happen to like the cash my Sunday sideline nets me. And I don't sneak out insanely early. Just because no one else in this building even moves before two doesn't mean waking up at twelve is insane."

"So what happened with this independent client of yours?" Seth asked, turning wide blue eyes on Blaine. It was no secret how much the cherubic blonde boy idolised Blaine, admiring his bond with Madame and his leisurely expertise with clients, and Blaine smirked to himself at the appreciation of the younger and far less experienced man. "Were they one of those really creepy people who wants to be tied up and spanked or something?"

"I had one of them my first month working here," Quincy confessed with an almost sentimental note of nostalgia in her voice. "He was a sweet man, though. I got so scared with it all that I started crying and he just dropped everything, gave me a hug and made tea. And he gave me an extra fifty dollars on top of my usual fee when I did eventually go down on him before I left."

"My God, is that Vic Manson?" Wes asked, his jaw dropping freely open in shock. At Quincy's answering smirk, he continued, "But you do him every week now. He's your best client, he pays you twice as much as Blaine gets for one appointment every time you see him."

"Ah, but Manson doesn't tip, so technically I can make more than her," Blaine contradicted. "She earns about four hundred a day, I can earn at least six hundred and fifty."

"Not all of us can have the stamina that allows us to fuck clients one after another until we come back home and eat for America," Quincy retorted icily. "I'm surprised your dick hasn't fallen off yet."

"So what happened?" Seth repeated, staring at Blaine with obvious adoration as Quincy glared at him for pointing out how far behind she was in their unnecessary competition to earn more than the other.

"A virgin came up to me and hired me," Blaine answered simply. "Absolutely stunning, and I'm not just saying that. Not as innocent as he appeared once he'd got his clothes off."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Wes said, holding up a hand to halt his analysis of his encounter with Kurt. "You had a virgin. Fucking hell, really? I assume he's gay, and he hired a prostitute to take him instead of finding a boyfriend who would make sure he was comfortable with it so the boyfriend could be comfortable and dance with him at his junior prom and be so warm and tender? Who is this guy?"

"More to the point, where do I find him and have him fuck me?" Quincy asked, licking her lips hungrily. "He sounds like my kinda man. I love the innocent act, it just does a lot for me."

"No, he was seriously flamboyantly gay," Blaine told her, feeling a little sickened at the thought of Quincy and her red-slicked lips crawling and sliding over Kurt's pale body. "His voice was higher than average, and I did initially think it was a woman before I saw him." He smirked and added, "All man once I actually got my tongue halfway down his throat."

"But what happened that's got you off your food?" Seth asked, concern painted across his round face. "Normally you're back for fourth helpings before most of us have finished our first. Not that I blame you, I was in Gregory's stash of chocolate like a man possessed when I got back from Ruby's. I can't even imagine what doing that three times over would be like."

"Not all clients are as demanding as Ruby, or my dick really would have fallen off," Blaine said sweetly, cocking an eyebrow at Quincy. "But when I started in on payment, after I agreed to work with him, he said he'd only pay me after I'd fucked him if he was satisfied. And I ended up fucking him twice and blowing him in the shower - don't look at me like that, Wes, he made the most amazing noises I've ever heard in four and half years of this job - but he refused to pay me when I said I had to leave this morning. I don't know, it just bothers me."

"Ugh, I hate the clingy ones," Quincy said, shuddering emphatically. "I did this woman last week who refused to let go. I had to tell her I was going to prepare myself in the bathroom and escape through the window, which is not easy when you're wearing the kind of heels that are just made to lie back and be fucked in."

"No, he wasn't clingy," Blaine said immediately, thinking back to lying tangled in sullied sheets with warm breath against the back of his neck and cold feet against the backs of his ankles. "If it was any other circumstance, I think I would've stayed. Is that weird?"

"The weirdest," Wes confirmed for him, looking at him with nothing short of disapproval in his gaze. "Blaine, we're prostitutes. We are paid to give strangers the best damn orgasm they've ever had and then get the hell out of there. We don't do literal sleeping together or fucking someone more than once in one appointment or seriously considering staying with someone instead of heading off to the next client. We don't do falling in love."

"I'm not falling in love!" Blaine said scathingly. "I just liked sex with him and I would do it again given half the chance. Everything is about sex, Wes! Nothing is about love, because even if I wanted to I have a job that pretty much puts paid to any outside relationships." He clattered his cutlery down onto the plate still laden with food, standing up with a loud creaking of the bench. "I'm going up to my room. Please don't disturb me, I have to sleep."

"Prepare for having Alyssa Monthart tomorrow, you mean," Quincy said as he left, shuddering. "I feel for you, Blaine, I really do. Thad had her up until last year and she drove him bloody fucking nuts."

Blaine left his friends and colleagues to argue over who had the neediest, the kinkiest, the meanest, the strangest clients and trailed up the stairs, brooding over this latest issue of his night with Kurt. It was true, what Wes said - he should never have spent the night with him, or had sex with him again in the morning. In situations such as those, he tended to get out as soon as possible, dressing by the dull orange glow of streetlights and quietly slipping money into the tin at reception for Harold to find when he opened the doors in the morning.

The room in the east wing of the dormitories was empty, Trent still downstairs, no doubt eating for America and rehashing the horrors of the day with Nick and Jeff. Sighing heavily, Blaine kicked the door shut, toed off his shoes and collapsed into his mattress, wrapping his arms around a pillow that smelt of fabric softener and nuzzling into it, suddenly exhausted. It had to be all the emotions and thinking about emotions and analysing his emotions. After four and a half years of almost exclusively thinking about sex, it was a tiring procedure.

Sleep took hold of him quickly as he melted into the soft white sheets, despite the fact that he was still fully-dressed and hadn't even showered and still smelt strongly of sex. He briefly considered his appointments for the next day and reminded himself to kick Trent out of bed so he didn't miss Trina before he surrendered to dreams, his eyes sliding shut.

He dreamt of Kurt. Of those soft needy whimpers, choked off moans and whispers for more. That perfect body, spread out and ripe for the taking beneath him. His long, slim fingers wrapped around the bed posts, clenching so hard his knuckles turned white as he groaned Blaine's name, over and over. Sliding slowly into him, all tight heat as eyes clouded with arousal gazed up at him trustingly, trusting that he would do everything right and make it perfect. The grateful kisses to his chin, his collarbone, his neck, as the feathery duvet wrapped itself around them and Kurt's head nodded forward against his neck, his breathing even and deep and soothing. The soft murmurs as he awoke and pressed warm lips back to Blaine's, pressing up against him with sudden desperation. Kissing him against a door, hands pushing against his hips to hold him back, a wet tongue slowly exploring his mouth, dragging wanton moans from his lips.

Blaine awoke with a start to hear rich snoring from Trent's bed. Blinking groggily, he turned the clock to see it was three in the morning. Moonlight sliced through the tiny gap between the curtain, searing into his retinas and ensuring he was fully awake before he could even think about burying his head in the pillow and simply going back to sleep. Being awake and alert also alerted him to the fact that he was hard. Extremely so.

He groaned softly, flopping back into the pillows and cursing his hormones and his profession and the whole system and his traditional Sunday independent clients for leaving him looking like a horny sixteen year old with his first boyfriend rather than a coolly profession nearly twenty-two year old prostitute who had had more sex than he really cared to admit. It was all Kurt's fault, for approaching him and hiring him and kissing him and willingly lying back and taking it while he fucked him. All Kurt's fault.

At the thought of Kurt he moaned softly, shoving his fist into his mouth to keep from waking Trent. Surrendering to his more carnal urges, the sort of thing he hadn't truly indulged for three years, he opened the button on the jeans he still wore, sighing in relief as it relieved some of the pressure on his cock, and shoved them down to mid-thigh with his underwear, wondering if he really should be doing this with his roommate fast asleep ten feet away. Despite his profession, Blaine was not an exhibitionist and didn't do such things unless it came as part of a specific request from a client. But, in the reality of needing to do something, it was a cold shower, which would rattle the pipes and awake the entire building; using the bathroom, which would make the entire tiled room smell like sex and instantly alert Trent to what was going on; or just getting it done with in his bed and stuffing a pillow into his mouth to avoid waking the man snoring in the other bed.

Grabbing one of the four pillows stuffed behind him, Blaine shoved the corner into his mouth and curled his hand around his cock, shuddering like a racehorse at the much-needed contact. His back arched up off the bed involuntarily, the springs creaking out in protest to make him freeze until he was sure Trent was still deep in the clutches of sleep. He moaned around the thick cotton nearly making him gag as he began to drag his fist up and down his cock, the slide just a little too rough, too much in a perfect way. As he did, he thought of Kurt, thought of kissing him and blowing him and fucking him. The flush rising up his neck when he pulled back from a kiss, his lips swollen and red and wet and bruised with the force of Blaine's kisses, his head falling back against the reinforced partition, neck arching forward and begging to be licked when Blaine ran his tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock, his amazing smile when Blaine had pushed him down into the bed, the wet tip of his cock smearing pre-come across Blaine's stomach as he thrust slowly in and out of him, how hopelessly and oddly erotic it had been when his nails had ripped Blaine's back as he gasped into the high-ceilinged room and came warm across Blaine's chest.

Blaine's orgasm crashed suddenly over him, the pillow muffling a long, low cry of mingled expletives and half-words and maybe even a few stutters of Kurt's name as he came over his fist. He collapsed back into the mattress, panting and staring up at a murky-dark ceiling as he thought of the man with the angel's face and the devil's lips.

Yep, I'm fucked.