The wind blew through the park, sending branches just beginning to dress themselves with new pale green buds snapping back against the blustery grey sky. Tiny green shoots, trampled by the feet of clumsy children and heavy adults alike, showed their sweet spring promise to the world, struggling out of the heavy dark earth and stretching their arms out to reach the light. A pale yellow primrose, her sweet face open to the sky light with a bright sun behind the veil of pale cloud, disappeared beneath the tramp of a heeled boot as a man took a shortcut across the park at a desperate run, clothes rumpled and hair wild against the wind as he leapt the gate at the edge of the park and dashed across a busy road.

Crashing through the back staff entrance to Espresso Yourself, Blaine tied the crimson apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves, smoothing the creases in his shirt down into the waistband of his pants just before Isabelle strode into the room and all the baristas fell silent, Sam frantically shushing Ryder, the latest trainee. "Right kids, let's get going," she said, gazing maternally around at each of them individually. "Newbie, you'll be with Sam and Tina, they'll show you the ropes. Blaine, Kitty, you're back here making the brownies until lunch, when you'll trade off with Artie and Unique to man the counter. Let's go, my dears, we have customers to serve. Opening in thirty minutes."

In the haven of pale walls and long, perfectly aligned wooden floorboards, the paintings of beach scenes and forests and cliffs melting into the walls with their cool and pastel palettes, there is smooth jazz piping quietly out through subtle speakers, so quiet it could be drowned out by Jake and Marley pushing the tables into place. But there in the kitchen, Kitty slotted her iPod into the speakers and turns the volume up full to blast theMoulin Rougesoundtrack through the kitchen as she snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and danced cheerfully over to the fridge to unearth eggs while Blaine assembled the sugar and flour, grinning at the blonde with her ponytail bouncing perkily behind her as she danced around the kitchen, free and happy.

"You'll never guess who came in here last week while you were at that audition, Blaine," Tina chirped, popping her head through the partition with a mischievous gleam in her eye as her and Unique exchanged a knowing smirk. "Kurt Hummel."

"No way," Blaine said immediately, wrinkling his nose in disbelief. "No, huge movie stars like him don't come into little coffeeshops with corny names. Don't lie to me about that, you know how much I love him, it's just mean."

"We're not lying!" Marley piped up as she ran a cloth across a tabletop, shining it for the new day. "He's on location here for about a month filming for that new film he's starring in, about the detective on a trail to clear the name of his grandfather who owned an insane asylum and was accused of using so much electric shock therapy that his patients died. God, he looked good."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up as Ryder snorted and Jake cleared his throat pointedly. A flush curling high in her cheeks, Marley said, "I still love Jake, but that doesn't mean I can't have harmless crushes on actors. He's gay anyway, not like I'd have a chance."

"Doesn't matter to me, he's still on my freebie list," Unique stated matter-of-factly, to murmurs of agreement from all the surrounding women. "Slice me off a piece of that cake and I'll die happy." Grabbing the nearest cloth, Blaine hurled it across the room at her, and the conversation broke apart with her shrieking about greasy cake crumbs in her hair and Kitty screaming equally loudly that her kitchen was place of cleanliness.

Isabelle opened the doors wide at exactly eight o'clock and a thousand people rushing in for their coffees before long days in the office poured in, keeping Artie and Unique busy moving back and forth between the counter and coffee machines, and Kitty and Blaine busy behind the scenes toasting paninis and keeping up with the demand for cookies and muffins and Kitty's speciality banana bread. The rush finally slowed at ten o'clock, and Blaine could relax a little, at least until Artie peered around the edge of the door and said, "Blaine, customer asking for you."

Sashaying out of the kitchen, Blaine let a suggestive smirk creep onto lips and gave the familiar man a look from beneath his eyelashes. "How may I help you today, Ryan?" he asked in a low voice, leaning on the counter, close to the man with his green-brown eyes and dark hair shot through with grey.

"Well, I was hoping for a home delivery tonight, the wife won't be back until tomorrow," Ryan said in a low, secretive voice, giving Blaine a wink laden with meaning. "And I'll definitely make it worth your while." He leaned over the counter to slip a folded wad of five fifty dollar bills into the front pocket of Blaine's apron, knuckles brushing against his groin, making his cock perk in interest.

"Any special requests?" Blaine asked softly, batting his eyelashes up at Ryan.

"Those knee-high boots you wore last time,Goddid you look sexy rolling around in my bed wearing nothing but those," Ryan answered, eyes glazing over a little at the memory. "And the crimson silk shirt, the one I can see absolutely everything through. And those jeans, your ass looks incredible."

"Of course," Blaine promised lowly, running a hand through his hair, licking his lips, slow and luxurious, and revelling in how Ryan's eyes drifted to his mouth and stayed there. "I'll be with you around eight. I expect you to be waiting for me, and keep to our agreement as usual."

"No kissing, no barebacking, no pain, no asking questions and don't expect you to still be there in the morning, I know," Ryan said good-naturedly, taking his coffee from Blaine. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, you are most welcome," Blaine replied easily, giving Ryan a wicked smirk and quirk of his eyebrow before he watched him go and turned back into the kitchen with a new spring in his step and the rustle of cash in his pocket.

Blaine drove the distance to Ryan's apartment that night. If he walked through the night-clad streets looking like he did, in tall black boots and tight black jeans and a crimson shirt made of silk so thin every muscle of his chest and stomach was visible, his nipples peaked against the material, he knew someone would try to proposition him, and he knew he was in no position to start a relationship. Only twenty-two, working in a coffeeshop, living with his dog and Kitty, secretly making home deliveries to earn the money to commute back and forth to auditions, searching desperately for his big break, there simply wasn't time in his schedule for dating on top of everything else.

When he knocked out his usual rhythm, three knocks followed by a three-second pause and then two more knocks, Ryan opened the door to tug Blaine inside by his hips, running his eyes over him with a hungry look on his face before pushing him into the bedroom, down onto the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and separating the halves, vivid crimson against the clean, sweet-smelling white sheets.

"You are unbelievably gorgeous," he growled possessively, raking his nails down Blaine's chest, leaving raised white lines fading into red against olive skin. "I swear, I'll divorce my wife and make you my conquest." Blaine gave a shocked, flattered gasp at the words, knowing it was all a lie. It was what they all said, but no limos seemed to be pulling up to spirit him away from his unravelling life. These men all stayed in the security of their marriages, and he slipped out in the middle of the night to a cold apartment with a bed warmed by Bond snoozing there, the thump of his tail reassuring as Blaine slid into bed exhausted and dissatisfied.

There had been a time when he dreamt of romance, of sex being not just that, but making love, something to look forward to, soft lips warm on his and a familiar body moving against his own, hands tracing the dips and curves of his body and holding him together as he broke apart beneath an expert caress. All those dreams were gone now, swept away like the skeletons of leaves on a bitter autumnal breeze, as Ryan peeled off his shirt and tugged his jeans away without taking off his boots, running his hands over the supple leather with a groan, pushing his erection against the inside of Blaine's thigh as he reached over him to grab a half-empty bottle of lube and a condom from the top drawer of his nightstand.

Only then did Blaine take charge, whispering clichéd overused phrases about how hot he was, how much he turned him on, as he slowly took Ryan's clothes off, running his hands everywhere, letting his eyes fall closed to better imagine someone else beneath him, someone gazing up at him with love in their eyes, someone who would hold him close throughout and whisper tender words in his ear. He reached for the lube and forced his eyes open, keeping them smouldering on Ryan's as he slid a finger into himself with a high-pitched whine for show, letting his breathyah-ah-ahs grow shriller and more wrecked as he opened himself up with his own skilled fingers, ripping the condom wrapper open with his teeth and rolling it down onto Ryan's steepled cock, giving him a few pumps with a lube-slick hand before sinking down slowly onto him, hips rolling and mouth falling open around a moan, head thrown back.

"You're so hot," Ryan groaned in a strangled voice as Blaine rolled his hips smoothly down, running his own hands down his chest, pinching a nipple to drag a deep moan from his throat and prompt a particularly hard thrust down onto Ryan's cock, slowly sliding his hand down to wrap around himself, jerking himself off hard and rough. "Next time she's out of town, I'll have you here the whole time. You'll never leave this bed, I'll keep you waiting here for me while I'm working. You look so perfect above me, but I want to see you under me."

Blaine ignored the jolt of fear that stole coldly into his stomach, moaning high and pretty for show, legs burning as he bounced until Ryan tensed and came with a shout, letting Blaine groan softly and spill over his own hand, lifting up and dressing fantastically fast, leaving the apartment and shutting the door firmly behind him.

The days passed. Blaine had another home delivery to make on Friday, to a regular he enjoyed more than Ryan, a single man with gentle hands and shrewd green eyes who made Blaine laugh and offered him access to his kitchen for food before he left for his own cramped apartment. He begged off work early on Monday and drove to an audition that ultimately ended with a polite, "You're just not what we're looking for," and the familiar ache of rejection stirring in his heart. He worked late on Tuesday to make up for it, and Kitty waited outside with Bond straining against his leash to rush to Blaine's side and cover his face in sloppy kisses.

On Wednesday, he and Kitty swapped places with Artie and Unique at twelve thirty, just in time for the lunch rush, and Blaine was preoccupied taking order after order until Kitty elbowed him in the side and jerked her head towards the door. Blaine looked, and for a moment it seemed as if he had simply stopped breathing, his heart jackrabbiting painfully against his breastbone as he gazed upon sheer perfection.

"Told you," Tina said smugly as she appeared from nowhere with a tray of dirty mugs and a half-eaten muffin. "Jesus Christ, he looks so good. Unique's gonna be so jealous that she was stuck in the kitchen!"

Blaine was watching Kurt with hungry eyes, observing the length of his apparently endless legs in their tight jeans, the flickering of emotions in his eyes as he spoke on his phone, the bulge of his bicep in the clinging shirt, when another of his regulars came to the front of the line. Hunter Clarington, who was always very vocal about the fact that he wasn't even remotely bi-curious but seemed to sing a different tune when it came to fucking into Blaine's mouth over and over, slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter. "Tonight at nine?" he asked gruffly, looking around as if any moment someone would accuse him of doing something treacherous.

Letting his eyes flicker to catch Kurt's, Blaine smirked and examined the bill between his fingers, making a great show of holding it up to the light. "Just making sure you aren't tricking me, Mr. Clarington," he teased with a coquettish giggle. "Of course, your home delivery will be delivered promptly to your apartment at nine, wrapped and simply waiting for you to open it. I'll be staying after to make sure it'sinstalledcorrectly."

He dropped a wink to Kurt over the heads of the patrons, stomach swooping as Kurt smirked at him, brushing a stray lock of hair back from his forehead as he stepped up the counter, leaning over to slide a few hundred dollars into Blaine's top pocket as he murmured, voice deliciously low and swirling with seduction, "Any chance I could get a home delivery tomorrow night?"

"Anything for a handsome boy like you, sweetheart," Blaine cooed, knowing Kurt probably wouldn't be interested if he knew Blaine had every promotional poster for each movie he'd starred in hanging in a collage on the back of his closet door and had been glued to gossip sites for days when his relationship with his ex-boyfriend had crashed and burned. "All I need is an address and a time."

"I'm staying incognito at this hotel," Kurt whispered, scribbling the name on a nickname and pressing it into Blaine's hand, a frisson of electricity skittering down Blaine's spine as Kurt's fingers caressed luxuriously over his skin as they withdrew. "You'll have to ask for Oliver Twist at reception."

"And do you always go undercover under the name of a British orphan?" Blaine teased, and Kurt beamed at him, pink lips curving up into a smile. God they looked so soft, Blaine simply wanted to lean across the counter and kiss him, audience be damned.

"Fictional characters, a quirk my manager has," Kurt answered, accepting the coffee Blaine pressed into his hand. He took an experimental sip and his eyes lit up. "How did you know my coffee order?"

"Lucky guess," Blaine answered brightly, not willing to tell the gorgeous man standing before him that he had read his interview about food over and over again and cooked from recipes connected to the article for a week, driving Kitty absolutely crazy. "It's a special skill."

"I get the feeling that's not the only special skill I'll be seeing from you this week," Kurt whispered lowly, and Blaine very nearly blushed, because Kurt Hummel was flirting with him. Kurt Hummel was going to see him naked. He was going to have sex with Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Blaine. At seven sharp, I have to be on set at six thirty on Friday morning."

Blaine had to restrain the part of him that wanted to simply jump onto the counter and dance in victory as Kurt left with an obvious exaggerated sway in his hips, simply knowing that Kurt had thought him attractive enough on first sight to be interested in a home delivery, and to take the offer.