Part Seven

The Dalton Prostitute Ring, established 2007, owned by Madame Petreleggier. That was the world he came from, the world to which he belonged. Not one of soft kisses in the rain or arms draped casually around shoulders or whispered sweet nonsensical nothings witnessed only by caressing moonlight. And yet, with his hand resting so naturally on Kurt's hip and Kurt's back sealed warm against his chest, Blaine couldn't remember a time when he'd been so happy. He saw the possibility of a brighter future, moving on from the place he'd grown to call home, a little bird spreading his wings and taking a chance on learning how to fly.

Watching Kurt sleep so peacefully, holding tight, holding it glowing and burning close to his heart, to the intimate knowledge of what he looked like beneath the duvet tugged bashfully up around his shoulders, Blaine had a truly wicked idea that could only come from one with four and half years of experience in the underworld beneath his belt. Massaging Kurt's hip soothingly in a tried and tested manoeuvre to keep him fast asleep, he rolled the man onto his back and proceeded to worship every inch of warm, yielding, flawless white skin he could reach.

He kissed across Kurt's forehead, each of his close eyelids, the rings of bruised purple beneath his eyes that indicated sleepless nights, the tip of his nose, each of his slightly pink cheeks, both corners of his mouth, his chin. He kissed up and down and along Kurt's neck, each of the dark marks he'd left, never sucking or nibbling on the sensitive skin, just simple, soft, sweet, closed-mouth kisses. A scattering of gentle kisses across his soft belly, then down to his feet, kissing the arch of each foot and moving slowly upwards until his eyelashes were brushing Kurt's hipbones as he kissed across his thighs. Kurt murmured softly in his sleep, shifting in infinitesimal movements, a deep slumber's impersonation approximation of writhing on the sullied sheets with Blaine's ministrations. Blaine smirked to himself and placed a final kiss to inexplicably soft skin before sinking his mouth down around Kurt's half-hard cock.

Kurt's eyes flew open as if he had just suddenly realised the meaning of life, his head shooting up with a low groan ripped from his lips as his cock swelled on Blaine's tongue. It barely took a minute for Kurt to moan Blaine's name into the heavy air - something which Blaine filed away as a new record to boast about in his profession - and collapse into the mattress, sighing contentedly. "That's a much better way to wake up than with any alarm clock I've ever owned," he said faintly. He looked down at Blaine, wiping his mouth and trying very hard - pun intended - to keep from rutting shallowly into the sheets. "Oh God, I completely forgot about you. Let me-"

"It's fine," Blaine insisted, running a hand across his ribs and further down, the memory of the breathless little moans Kurt made when he was close drumming like a pulse in his ears. "I'll take care of myself and we can talk or whatever."

Kurt drew him back up the bed, holding his gaze with eyes darkened by desire. "I want to," he whispered. "Shush, just let me." He captured Blaine's lips in a possessive kiss, deep and dirty, actually licking into Blaine's mouth to taste himself as he wrapped his hand around Blaine's cock.

Kurt's hand was very different from his own, Blaine decided as he lost some part of himself in the haze stealing away of halfway coherent thought. His fingers were longer, and softer, and cooler, his movements careful, and deliberate, and precise (slowtooslow). Blaine's orgasm crashed unexpectedly over him like a breaking wave, groaning any number of expletives to the ceiling as he spilled over Kurt's hand.

He collapsed back into the creaking mattress, panting, legs refusing to move. Despite everything he'd had, he still wanted more, craving just for the hard lines of Kurt's body against his, trembling almost violently with a passionate, almost violent want and need for him. He felt feverish with it, mouth dry and nerves crackling with electricity. Kurt's lips pressed briefly to his sweat-damp forehead as he awkwardly mumbled, "We're all sweaty and sticky and gross. Want to shower with me?"

Which was how they ended up showering together in the least sexy way possible, Kurt humming softly as he shampooed Blaine's hair, a gesture that was somehow even more intimate than any sexual encounter they'd shared. Blaine was content to sink into the warm water cascading over him, washing his troubles and worries and tangled emotions down the drain in a whirl of scented foam, and Kurt's fingers massaging his scalp, just to listen to the inflections and tones in Kurt's voice as he exclaimed in disgust over the hotel shampoo and told a story about a friend of his who had a drawer filled with complementary bottles of aftershave swiped from hotels.

"Santana is going to tease me about the walk of shame outfit for weeks!" Kurt exclaimed as he redressed in his jeans and shirt, a slight flush rising on his cheeks when Blaine watched him button the shirt, every inch of skin disappearing beneath pale blue cotton. "And I have to live with her."

"It's not a walk of shame outfit, it's not the next day yet," Blaine reminded him fondly. "We didn't sleep that long, it's only five o'clock. Want to order room service? I find I tend to get hungry after such a vigorous session." He dropped Kurt a lascivious wink.

Ten minutes later they were sprawled out across the bed, fully-clothed for once, and eating the toast and bacon Harold had sent up with his compliments and the coffee pot. After one sip, Kurt had made a face and declared the stuff to be disgusting, haughtily sipping orange juice instead. It was the little things, his mannerisms and his quirks and the tiny inflections in his voice, that made Blaine feel his heart melt a little with every moment, another piece of his shield crumble to nothing.

"So, how did you end up at Dalton?" Kurt asked, looking up at him with comparatively innocent eyes. "I mean, I know it was a gender-specific school for young gentlemen. My dad's cousin went there, but he moved to Europe when I was a baby so I never heard any stories. Do you know why the school got shut down?"

"I think there was a student-teacher affair that got way out of hand and the headmaster hadn't seen any of it," Blaine explained with a slight shrug. "I don't know all the details, just the Madame bought it up in late 2006 and by March 2007 it was transformed into a fully-functioning prostitute ring. She's got friends in high places, and they keep her out of trouble." He crossed his knife and fork over the plate, fidgeting with the cutlery in the edgy manner that always surfaced when he spoke of life before prostitution. "I ended up here because my parents, especially my father, were homophobic assholes who didn't want me under their roof. He hit me across the living room and I ran away with nothing but the clothes on my back and went to Madame looking for sanctuary. She looked after me and assigned David to mentor me while I recovered. Once I had, I was out there working. Turns out I had a bit of a born-with-it knack for pleasuring strangers." He sighed heavily, avoiding Kurt's gaze as he confided, "David inspires me. He's just moved on from this industry, to greener pastures. He's only two years older than me, and he's out there, looking for a real job and a wife and a house to raise children in."

"But that's fantastic!" Kurt exclaimed, looking shocked and apparently thinking that Blaine didn't approve of David's actions. "He's on his way up, he's showing everyone that just because you turn to a career like yours when times are hard it doesn't mean you have to do the same thing all your life. Don't you want that for yourself, Blaine? Surely you can't imagine doing this for much longer. You're nearly twenty-two."

"You sound like my parents," Blaine said bitterly. "Always nagging me, telling me I couldn't slack off, I had to carry on the family business because all my brother was interested in was becoming a big Hollywood star. At least it showed they cared. After I came out to them, they…they stopped loving me." He was horrified by how good it felt when Kurt held him close and let him cry into his shoulder, the held-back tears of years of bottled emotions all flowing with strong arms around him, rocking him gently as one would soothe a crying baby.

"I forget how lucky I am with my family," he murmured, stroking Blaine's hair comfortingly as merely his voice calmed Blaine more than anything else ever could. "My mum died when I was eight, but my dad was always there for me. When I came out to him, just about three years ago, he was supportive, even claiming he'd known since I was three. Carole, my stepmother, is almost like my best friend and Finn, my stepbrother, used to harass me until we started living together and now we're real brothers in everything but blood. I'm so sorry you have a crappy family, Blaine."

"I have a family at Dalton," Blaine said into Kurt's shoulder. "I have friends there, and some of the younger ones are like my children, or annoying siblings, and David was like a father to me until he left. I just…sometimes I do think about going out there, finding a husband and raising a family with a man I'm completely in love with. Is that stupid?"

"That could never be stupid, Blaine," Kurt whispered, Blaine's name falling from his lips like a benediction, so reverent. "It's all anyone ever wants from life. To fall in love and be happy. It's what I want." Blaine disentangled himself from the embrace, wiping his eyes and smiling brightly, falsely. "Blaine, I wanted to ask you something. I know I've barely seen you, and I'm going back to New York tomorrow with my roommates, and this isn't supposed to be anything but sex, but I'm going to ask you a question. You don't have to answer straight away, in fact I'd prefer it if you didn't, but I would like an answer. You can have my phone number, and I'll be back here next month for a wedding and Thanksgiving with my family." He took a deep breath, Blaine staring at him in complete confusion, any number of possible questions that could be heading his way shooting through his mind. "Would you be my boyfriend?"

Well, out of everything he could've been asked, from, "Do you have any STDs?" to, "Do you mind if we never ever see each other again?" that had not been what he was expecting. Which was why he choked on his mouthful of coffee, splattering his shirt with brown flecks and bent nearly double, holding himself up on his hands and knees as he tried not to cough up a lung.

"Blaine, are you okay?" Kurt asked in distress, rubbing his back slowly. "Just take your time, try and breathe, don't choke to death, I'd quite like you to stay alive." Blaine wheezed and coughed and hacked until he could finally breathe normally again and sat back on his knees, eyes watering.

"Jesus, Kurt, you can't just spring something like that on a guy and expect him not to choke on his coffee!" he exclaimed weakly, pushing the cup aside with a betrayed look to the inanimate object. "I can't answer you right now, I really need to think about something like that." Kurt just smiled slightly and took Blaine's phone, entering his number.

"I should really be getting home so I can pack and clean the room I've been sleeping in before I go home tomorrow," he said apologetically, picking up all his belongings. "Thank you for everything today. I hope to see you around, Blaine Anderson." He handed Blaine another hundred dollars, winked, and was gone.

Blaine collected his wits and everything around him, smirking quietly to himself as he left the hotel, flipping the two keycards back to Harold, who gave him a knowing look as he jogged out into autumnal evening sunlight and hailed the first taxi that passed him by.

"You will never guess what happened today!" he exclaimed, exultantly cheerful, as he slid into his seat at the table where Wes, Quincy and Seth sat, morose and exhausted and barely picking at the food Blaine dived immediately into.

"No, we will never ever ever guess what happened today, so please tell us before we die of anticipation," Quincy said in a voice positively dripping with sarcasm. "Before you ask why we're all in such bad moods, Wes' best client cancelled, Seth was denied the chance to make more money and I had another fight with my roommate over space issues."

"I was supposed to have Santana this morning, but as it turned out, she's one of Kurt's friend and his roommate in New York, they're still here and she actually hired me for Kurt," Blaine explained happily. "So I spent the day with him and cancelled all my other clients. He gave me five hundred by himself, I think I can afford it for one day. And then the strangest thing happened: he asked me to be his boyfriend."

Quincy nearly stabbed herself in the hand with the prongs of her fork; Wes' eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he sent a glass crashing to the ground; Seth looked at Blaine with shining, expectant eyes before he caught sight of the other two and attempted to rearrange his face into an appropriately shocked expression. "Wait, you're not gonna say yes, are you?" Quincy asked in apparent distress.

"I told him I needed time to consider and he gave me his number so I can call him if I have an answer before he comes back in November," Blaine said with a shrug, almost a little hurt by the lack of happiness for him his so-called friends were displaying. "I guess you guys were all wrong: clients can fall in love with prostitutes."

"But can prostitutes fall in love with clients?" Wes asked, the question hanging heavy on the air, echoing unbidden in Blaine's ear throughout dinner and the impromptu marathon of Star Wars in Jeff's room that Seth dragged them all to. Could he fall in love with Kurt? Or was the relationship doomed to fall to dust, just like every other he'd had?