Kurt brought his arms above his head as he stretched out luxuriously in the black velvet sheets, rolling over to nuzzle his face further into the pillow. He didn't care that he was naked and exposed. The room was warm and thick with the heady scent of gardenias clogging his throat pleasantly. 

Cool lips pressed between the dimples of his hips and he sighed into the silky pillow, relaxing as the lips steadily trailed up his spine, two cold hands stroking up his sides pleasantly, sending chills through his body. A nose skimmed the back of his neck and then a face burrowed into the side of it. Kurt smiled fuzzily as he let himself be turned over, cold fingers lacing with his above his head and pressing them into the soft velvet.

Kurt breathed out heavily, drawing his knees up as the cool hard body settled over his, soft mouth sucking on his neck gently. Then harder. Then a sudden bite that caused a sharp gasp from Kurt and his back to arch off the bed, his lips moaning, "B--"

Kurt's eyes flew open. He was hot and sweaty and achy all over and writhing in his sheets. He sat up, brushing his sweat-drenched bangs off his forehead and looking around wildly, making sure that there were no long-haired girls watching him or anything.

He was alone. 

Glancing down at himself--and certain areas that were straining against his pajama pants--he sighed and collapsed back onto his pillow, squishing something soft with his cheek. He lifted his head to see the small little gardenia flower and the note card from earlier. 

Sweet dreams, Kurt.

He blushed and flicked the card across his bed, getting up for school.

***

It was amazing what a good night's sleep could do to a person. He didn't feel hazy or foggy. He didn't flinch at the sight of dark hair. Even the colors seemed to pop out a bit more.

Not that it did much for his concentration. Every five seconds his mind would shoot back to the dream, the feel of phantom lips ghosting across his skin, cold hands--why had they been cold?--gripping him tightly, soft velvet--

Kurt blinked, ducking his head to hide the heat rising on his face so he could finish his essay.

***

Horror awaited him at home.

"What...is that?" he muttered, unnerved. 

"Your grandfather's cotillion suit," his grandmother answered from her armchair as Edmund held up the atrocity. "It's what you'll wear tomorrow."

Well, it wasn't that bad. Stiff, white, shoulder padding, utterly dull looking.

"I'll look ridiculous," Kurt said flatly. "And I'm not wearing white."

"You'll look presentable," his grandmother argued. "And you will where white. It's the dress code."

"I'm in mourning!" Kurt protested.

"Your father has been dead for over a month!" His grandmother snapped. "That's more than enough time to grieve, now stop this foolishness instantly!"

Kurt glared at her before storming upstairs to his room. He looked at the picture of himself and his parents on his nightstand and picked it up, holding it to his chest as he curled into a ball on his bed and cried quietly.

After a time, he got up and grabbed his coat and boots, leaving the house out into the blizzard awaiting him. He briefly considered turning back before shaking his head and soldiering onward past the gate and into the trees for shelter. 

His hands turned numb almost instantly, but his stubbornness wouldn't allow him to turn back so he kept soldiering on through the trees, heading to where they grew denser and denser, seeking respite from the snow.

The path started to seem familiar and before he knew it he was in front of a gate with a large 'A'. He licked his lips and pulled the gate open, shivering at the icy feel of the metal.

The path up to the house was no longer cleared as it had been nearly a week ago so Kurt struggled through the snow drifts that were up to his knees as he made his way to the front door. Before he could lift his hand to knock, the door flung open, Blaine standing there slightly bewildered in a dressing gown, eyes sleepy.

"Kurt?" he asked curiously. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." Kurt blinked, looking around him. "I don't know."

"Are you alright? It's freezing outside." 

"I'm fine," Kurt muttered, frowning. Why had he come here? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Blaine reassured, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. "But come in, you must be drenched."

"No, I shouldn't," Kurt shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't really know why I came here. I should head back."

"Nonsense," Blaine said. "Come in, I insist. At least get yourself warm."

"I don't know--"

"And then I'll drive you back myself."

Kurt hesitated. He shouldn't but...he really didn't want to venture back out into the storm. So he nodded.

Blaine smiled, his white teeth flashing and Kurt felt an odd chill run down his spine. "Welcome to Anderson Manor, Kurt."

Kurt stepped through the doorway, jaw dropping slightly as he gazed up at the four story mansion. There was a grand staircase that spiraled up to all four stories, large drapes hanging over the windows, a giant chandelier that held...

 "Are those candles?" Kurt asked, staring upwards. The door shut behind him.

"Yes," Blaine whispered, lips suddenly against his ear. "I think it's romantic, don't you?" Blaine trailed his hands down Kurt's arms slowly, fingers dancing around the pulse point of his wrists.

Kurt shivered, turning in his embrace. "Romantic?"

Blaine smirked lazily at him, eyes flickering gold in the candlelight. "For you, Kurt," he whispered. "I've been waiting here for you for so long..."

In the blink of an eye, Kurt was pressed against one of the thick velvet curtains, Blaine mouthing hungrily at his neck. Kurt welcomed it, hands gripping in Blaine's hair, stretching his own neck back as Blaine nipped right over his jugular, biting down--

Kurt's eyes flew open. He was still in bed, his parent's picture clutched to his chest. 

He glanced out the window. The blizzard had stopped and snow was softly falling.

***

Kurt skipped school to snoop through his grandmother's room while she was away in Boston. His grandfather's things were in the back of the closet, but he managed to extract a black waistcoat that fit him snuggly and a striking black silk ascot. He snuck his finds back into his room and assembled his ensemble for the night to come.

Black slacks that were thin enough to allow for his leather lace-up boots which went up to his knees, a plain black dress shirt, the ascot, the waistcoat with tails and an old thin black scarf that had been his mother's once upon a time. He sat in front of his mirror and went through his old moisturizing ritual that he'd been neglecting since moving to Massachusetts and combed up his hair to former glory. 

He looked sharp, he wasn't going to lie. 

***

Kurt sat in the corner of the room that the boys were allotted for dressing as they waited for the presentations. His other classmates were bending over small sinks and tables, glancing into mirrors and fixing their hair and spraying cologne. Kurt just checked his nails and fiddled with the end of his scarf, already growing bored.

"Well well well, what's little Hummel doing here?"

Kurt suppressed an eye roll as he looked up at Scott. "Escorting Katherine Wilde," he said dully.

Scott snorted. "What, dressed like Jack Skellington?" 

Kurt sighed. "Sure. Who are you escorting?" 

"No one," Scott smirked. "That was last year. And since you arrived, they had enough men to escort the ladies. Well, if you can even call yourself that."

Kurt was saved from dying of exasperation by one of the coordinators coming in to take them to their ladies. He followed the other boys who immediately paired up with their girls--having known them all their lives. Kurt looked around vaguely until a very pretty blonde girl in a floaty white dress walked over to him.

"Kurt Hummel?" she asked, eyebrow raised disdainfully. 

Kurt nodded. "Katherine Wilde?"

"Kitty," she sighed, crossing her arms. "Perfect. All the others get elegant and glamourous Tom Fords and I'm stuck with gay and gothic Alexander McQueen."

"You do know that Tom Ford is gay, right?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

"But he has style," Kitty said with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Aren't you gays supposed to be fashionable?" She eyed his ensemble.

Kurt clenched his jaw. "Come on."

They were led through an arched hallway into a large balcony at the top of a grand staircase, parents and alums and an orchestra below around the marble dance floor. There was a speech about the history of the White Christmas Cotillion that Kurt pretty much blanked out and then they were calling the names of the ladies, followed by their escorts who'd take their hand and descend down the staircase to dance.

On and on and on it went, Wilde being the last name on the list.

"Katherine 'Kitty' Bianca Wilde," the announcer said clearly and Kitty stood at the top of the stairs, fluffing out her dress. Kurt dug his hands out of his pockets and waited for his name to be called. "Making her debut to Provincetown society and escorted by Scott Gregory Harrington III."

Kurt froze as Scott suddenly walked up from behind him and took Kitty's hand, walking down the staircase, shooting a smirk back at him. Kurt stood awkwardly, feeling a rush of humiliation overtake him as he stood at the top of the stairs alone, not sure what to do.

"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel," the announcer suddenly called and Kurt blinked in surprise as he cautiously stepped forward, glancing down the stairs nervously to wear several people had glanced up in question, Scott looking up sharply. "Making his debut to Provincetown society and escorted with Duke Blaine Devon Anderson VIII."

Kurt's head snapped to the right to see Blaine Anderson emerge from behind the announcer in a full white vintage military suit, hand extended. Unbidden, he found himself excepting the hand and the two walked down the stairs to the gaping faces below. They reached the bottom of the stairs and people started to whisper, the dancers carrying on despite their obvious glances.

"May I have this dance?" Blaine asked, bringing Kurt's hands up to his lips for a kiss.

Kurt shivered slightly. "I'm not really accustomed to dancing with men that I've only had a single conversation with."

"Well I only came here to dance with you, Kurt," Blaine said, running his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand. "So I might as well leave if I cannot."

Kurt blinked, bringing his tongue between his suddenly dry lips to part them. This time he did not miss the looked that Blaine gave him when he did so. "Well, I wouldn't want you to waste the trip."

Blaine smiled before settling his right hand on Kurt's hip and pulling him effortlessly into the flitting dancers. The waltz lilted in a sweet minor key and they spun in uniformity with everyone else.

"Duke?" Kurt questioned curiously.

Blaine smiled wryly. "Just a title, passed down from Duke Blaine Anderson I over the years. Never meant much until Blaine Anderson IV was honored by the queen." He nodded to the cords and pins on his uniform." 

Kurt nodded as Blaine bent and spun and whirled him around, getting dizzy in the masses of white that moved past. "Why did you come here to dance with me tonight?"

"Because I think you're fascinating," Blaine said simply, dipping him briefly. "And I wanted to invite you out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Why are you so adamant on dinner?" Kurt sighed.

"Because I want to spend time with you," Blaine said simply. "And I'll tell you everything that you want to know."

Kurt stared at him, throat suddenly dry. "What do you mean?"

"All those little questions you've been having," Blaine said quietly, leaning forward to whisper against Kurt's neck. "About the well...and the lighthouse...and those dreams you've been having..."

Kurt's eyes widened as he pulled back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Blaine just stared at him intently. "Plus you want to spend time with me as well."

"No I don't," Kurt denied. 

"Then why is this our seventh song dancing together?"

Kurt blinked, looking around and realizing that the pace of the waltz had vastly increased and there were others on the dance floor besides those having their debut.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow."

Kurt looked back at Blaine.

"We can have lobster," Blaine said. "I know the perfect restaurant."

Kurt hesitated. "I...fine."

"Really?"

"Yes," Kurt nodded. "But you have to answer all my questions."

"I promise," Blaine smiled, whirling them off the dance floor. "I have to take my leave. Would you like a ride home?"

Kurt paused before nodding. "Fine."

The ride home was mostly silent. Kurt was surprised when 70s rock played from the radio. He'd never really pegged Blaine as the type. 

The snow continued to fall thickly outside of the warm car.

"Here we are," Blaine said as they pulled in front of the Blanc mansion. He got out and opened Kurt's door, holding out his hand for him. Kurt took it and stepped out of the car. 

"Thank you for helping me earlier," Kurt said quietly, trying to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his hair. "You...saved me from a lot of embarrassment."

"It was nothing," Blaine said, reaching up to move the lock behind Kurt's ear. They stared at each other briefly before Blaine's hand drifted down to Kurt's chest, resting over his heart. Blaine leaned in slowly and Kurt froze.

Cold breath ghosted over his ear. "Sweet dreams, Kurt," Blaine whispered before pulling back and getting into his car.

Kurt stood in front of his house, watching Blaine drive away before looking down.

In his breast pocket, where Blaine's hand had been, was a gardenia.