The next several weeks were a whirlwind. Blaine spent just about every other night at Sebastian's place. It would have been more, but there was a cat to feed at David's, and after a long talk, the two of them had decided that it would keep things from getting awkward. After all, they weren't dating. They never went anywhere, other than the bar he played at every Tuesday for Open Mic, without fail. They just fixed dinner at 'Bastian's place, curled up for movies, talked for hours, oh, and had it been mentioned, they fucked. And fucked. Sebastian penetrated him on or against every surface of the impeccably decorated apartment. Twice. Then they would pass out, sweaty, naked and sticking together with less mentionable body fluids, before one of them got up for work. Then they'd share a shower – complete with blow jobs – and part for the day.

Blaine had never been so well-laid in his life. His energy-slash-enthusiasm dial was generally set at about an eight. After Sebastian came in his life (and his mouth, his ass, his hands, his hair...) it was like he was set at a permanent twenty-six. His boss even asked him to take a drug test, and wasn't that a fun conversation? He had hickeys on top of hickeys and his face hurt from smiling so wide. It was awesome. If everyone on the planet was getting fucked like this, there would be instant world peace. Everyone would be too busy trying to light a post-coital smoke to worry about things like the angry guys on the other side of the border. (And those angry guys would probably be a whole lot more mellow.)

He'd always been confident, you know. He was pretty good looking, he was well put together, he worked out- well, a little. Sometimes. And he'd had a few boyfriends, and a handful of experimental one night stands in college, and they'd all seemed appreciative of what he had to offer in the bedroom. But the way Sebastian reacted to him. God. Blaine's sexual confidence was through the roof.

“God, baby,” the taller man had whispered, pinning him against the living room wall. “I love how you wear your hair, all slicked back and proper. And those bow ties... I just want to rip them off with my teeth every time I see you...”

So he felt justified in singing “Do Ya Think I'm Sexy” one Tuesday at The Rack (so named for its pool tables, not for its bartender). The answer, apparently, was yes. They had barely made it to the dingy bathroom in the back, and only narrowly escaped a lifetime ban. Things were great. Casual, no pressure, and above all, fun.

“Hey, baby?” Blaine poked his head out of the bathroom, still brushing his teeth, in response to the call. “I don't remember if we've talked about it, do you like musicals?”

Blaine took a moment to spit, rinse with water, and pat his face dry before joining Sebastian. “I'm a gay man in New York. What do you think?” he teased, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Well, there is 'musical theater gay' and 'leather bar gay', amongst the many rainbow flavors, and while I'm pretty sure you've never worn a choke collar for fun, I didn't want to assume,” came the smirking retort. “Your ears are turning red, is there something you want to share?” Sebastian scooted closer, wrapping arms around his waist and nipping at the earlobe in question. Blaine squirmed.

“I may or not have had a misadventure in S&M that got really strange, really fast, and ended with him dumping me on Christmas because I wouldn't let him piss on me, and wow, we have gotten really, really off topic. In answer to your first question, yes, I like musicals. Can we go back to that part of the conversation? Please?” The words tumbled quickly from his lips, and he could feel his face burning.

Sebastian laughed, dropping a kiss on the nape of his neck. “You are just too damn cute, I swear. But yes, we can go back to the first part. The part where I tell you I have tickets to latest revival of Phantom of the Opera this Friday night. One of my friends is playing Raoul, and there's party afterwards. If you want to come with me, that would be nice. Otherwise I have to take my sister, and that's kind of lame.”

“You're kidding! I love that show!” Blaine almost bounced with excitement. “I mean, are you sure it's okay? I don't want to get in your way, or whatever.”

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you there. There are going to be a lot of my friends I haven't seen in a while at the party, though, so I hope you don't end up feeling left out.” At this point, Sebastian was tugging him backwards to lie down across the pillows, his mind no longer on the subject.

“Oh no, that's fine. I have to open on Saturday anyway, so I might just leave a little early from the party, but as long as- oh!” Warm hands were tugging off his boxers, and a hot, wet mouth latched on to his hipbone, derailing his train of thought. Blaine carded his fingers through his lover's hair, completely willing to be distracted. Friday would take care of itself. Right now, Sebastian was doing something with his tongue that required undivided attention. “Oh God, right there!”

This party was insane, Blaine decided as he carefully sipped at his drink. It was only his second, and he'd already decided it was his last. Work was going to come way too early in the morning, and the last thing he needed was to show up late, or worse, hung over. Looking around, he guessed he was the only person in the house who was being held back by such considerations. The music was loud, mostly house mixes and electronica, as good as any nightclub he'd ever been to. The house was crowded, the booze was flowing. To his right, a blond was dancing on top of the coffee table without a shirt on. To his left, a pair of twinks were dry humping against the wall, sucking on each other's necks. There were clusters of people talking and laughing, and clusters of people who looked like an orgy might break out at any minute. And everyone, everyone seemed to think this was completely normal. This party was insane.

At least the people were friendly, and mostly in a good way. He turned back to his conversation with a loud spoken girl who had introduced herself as Mercedes. She apparently was a friend of a girl in the cast, even if she didn't often go to the after parties. Her boyfriend, a tall blond named Sam, looked like he'd just stepped off a beach, or an Abercrombie photo shoot.

“Uh uh, white boy. There is no way that Katy Perry is better than my Mary J. I'll take music with meaning and heart any day, over yet another recycled bubblegum pop princess,” the argument continued.

“I didn't say better! I just said that I like music that's upbeat more than the stuff that makes me want to cut myself and weep mascara!” Blaine shot back, eyes twinkling.

“What the- no! No, no, no! That's it, I can't talk to you anymore. You're clearly defective. That, or all that hair gel has seeped into your brain and killed not just your fashion sense, but your good taste. Now apologize to the music gods, and be off with you!” For all her harsh words, Mercedes was clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

“Ohmygod. I want to keep you. Can I keep you?” he gave her the biggest happy-puppy eyes he could muster, bouncing in place and almost spilling his drink in the process. Sam snorted.

“Have her. She's got expensive tastes, though. Sure you can afford her salon bills?” he teased, gently elbowing his girlfriend, who rounded on him in disbelief.

“The hell did you just say?”

At this point, someone grabbed Blaine's arm, stumbling into him. “There you are!” Sebastian slurred. His hair was mussed, his shirt was buttoned crooked, and and a faint sheen of perspiration shone on his upper lip. “C'mon, I want you to meet- to meet... Hang on.” He sagged against him, taking a deep breath. “Mm. Tequila. Wait! Jesse. I want you to meet Jesse. He was awesome tonight-” Sebastian half-turned, dragging Blaine with him, to face the well-groomed man who had played Raoul earlier that evening. He was a little tousled himself, and had a tipsy brunette on his arm that looked vaguely familiar.

“Jesse St. James. Nice to meet you,” he flashed a smile, extending a hand.

“Blaine Anderson,” he replied, automatically trying to shake his hand, while juggling a drink and Sebastian's decreasing coordination. “You were pretty fantastic.”

“I know. I'm glad that-” The brunette cut off his reply.

“And I'm Rachel Barbara Berry, Jesse's girlfriend. What did you think of my performance? I am well aware that the role of Meg is one that carries less stage time and fewer opportunities to showcase my voice, but considering that this is my first actual Broadway credit, allowances can be made. There is always room for growth and improvement. Sebastian tells me that you are a performer yourself. Do you have any notes for me?” Large brown eyes, slightly glazed with alcohol, burned into him with anticipation.

“I wouldn't say I'm a performer, exactly. I just sing at a few coffee shops and bars, you know. Karaoke and open mic things. But I can tell you're talented!” Blaine added hastily, as her face began to fall. He never could stand to hurt anyone's feelings, and clearly this was important to her.

“Thank you!” she gushed, before looking past him. “Mercedes! You came! What did you think of me tonight? Come meet my boyfriend!” Jesse let himself be dragged past with an amused wave. Clearly, Blaine had been dismissed. His attention returned to Sebastian, who was trying to simultaneously steal his drink and untuck his shirt.

“What on earth are you trying to do?” He looked around for somewhere to set down his cup.

“Mm. Want you. You smell good,” came the response, punctuated with a hot puff of breath, redolent with alcohol.

“Huh uh, Boozy McGee. I have to get home and go to bed. Work, remember?” Blaine chewed his lower lip worriedly. Would it be okay to just leave him here in this condition? He remembered a key check at the front door, but he wasn't sure how the other man would navigate getting a cab home, or if there were crashing privileges here.

“Ooh, bed. Take me there. Home. Bed. Yeah, that one.” Sebastian attached himself to his neck, hand roaming down to grab at his ass.

“Right!” Blaine squeaked. “I guess I should.” It was probably for the best. If Sebastian tried to leave by himself, there probably wouldn't be anyone to stop him, and he could get hurt or lost. It was getting pretty late, by his standards at least.

The ride back to the apartment was eventful, to say the least. Not only was Sebastian handsy and horny, he also was too drunk to maintain an erection which made him randomly burst into tears. By the time Blaine half-carried him through the lobby, to the elevators, to the apartment (and waging an epic battle over the keys), they crossed the threshold just in time for the cycle of drunkenness to reach “Vomit”.

Blaine left the other man slumped against the toilet in the front bathroom, shucking off his now disgusting clothes. He threw them into a garbage bag to be washed later, and spent twenty minutes cleaning up a puddle of puke from the entry way in his boxers.

“Baaaaby... I don't feel so-” the sounds sickness echoed against the walls. With a wince, he pitched the rags he'd been using, washed his hands, and snagged a glass to take with him into the bathroom.

“Shh, it's okay,” Blaine smoothed back Sebastian's bangs, placing a cool hand on the back of his neck as he continued to empty his stomach. His own guts twisted, and he held back a sympathy puke by force of will. “Here.” He helped him swish and spit, then again with mouthwash, cleaned his face, and helped him take off his soiled shirt. “All done?”

Sebastian just groaned, his forehead pressed to the porcelain bowl. Blaine made a comforting sound, urging the other man to his feet- well, his knees- and leading him to bed. He gently pulled off his shoes and slacks, and tucked him in under the covers, with a trashcan and a glass of water close at hand. Just when he was debating climbing in to pass out for – he checked the clock- a two hour nap, the doorbell rang. He frowned. Who on earth...?

Blaine grabbed a robe from Sebastian's closet, hastily belting it and going to answer the front door. To his surprise, it was none other than Jesse St. James, who took in his less-than-dressed appearance with a frown.

“I'd ask if 'Bastian was home, but it looks like you work faster than I do,” the actor snarked.

“Sorry,” he stammered, pulling the robe closed over his bare chest. “Was there something you needed? He just fell asleep,” he offered apologetically.

“Well, he told me earlier to come over once I'd ditched Rachel, and he'd remind me of that thing he does with his tongue, but it looks like his tongue is already busy tonight.” The once-over he gave him was completely dismissive.

Blaine's jaw started to drop, then he remembered his manners, and quickly shut his mouth. “I'll let him know you came by. Maybe give him a call tomorrow?” It wasn't any of his business what Sebastian got up to, he reminded himself. They'd said from the start that they were neither exclusive nor serious. Even if he hadn't been on a date since well before this whole thing began.

“Do that. I'm not into threesomes unless they're all about me, so rain check?” Jesse flashed a condescending smile, and headed back down the hallway. He shook his head, shutting the door firmly and flipping the deadbolt. Seriously? Disbelieving, he checked in with a happily snoring Sebastian, then tossed the robe into the corner, and climbed into bed. If he didn't catch at least a few winks, he was going to be absolutely useless for work. Then he remembered. He didn't have any clothes here. And Sebastian was too narrow in the waist and shoulders, and too long in the leg to have anything that would fit him even remotely. Blaine groaned, scrubbing his palms across his face. Got up, found a pair of track pants and a t-shirt. Grabbed his messenger bag and key, and headed out. This was looking to be a Red Bull kind of day.