Blaine was taken by surprise when he entered the Gilded Arch Theatre only to find it seemingly empty.

“Hello?” he called.

“Ah, Mr. Anderson,” replied a decidedly male voice.

“Ha, ha. The Matrix. Very clever,” Blaine joked without thinking. Fuck, Blaine, he scolded himself. That could be your damn director. “Where are you?”

Suddenly, the ghost light flickered on, illuminating the stage--bare, save for a silhouette standing just outside the light.

“Come, come,” the man beckoned.

Blaine obeyed, taking step after tentative step until he reached the stage. The man--tall, wild eyed, and middle-aged, with a little gray around the temples--proffered his hand, and Blaine shook it.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you. I’m Amos Flanagan.”

Blaine beamed; his ‘adults and authority figures only’ smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing directing local theatre.” Mr. Flanagan smiled.

Blaine gave a small chuckle. As opposed to what? “Um.”

Mr. Flanagan laughed. “It’s a favor for a friend. That’s all anyone needs to know.” He paused. “You know what? You have got the most infectious, beaming smile, Mr. Anderson. I like you. Call me Amos.”

O-kaaay, thought Blaine. This guy’s a little weird, but I'll take the compliment.

“Thanks, Mr. Fla--Amos,” Blaine inexplicably turned on the flirty eyes he always used on Kurt. What the fuck, brain?

Amos chuckled. “I have a question, Mr. Anderson.”

“Blaine.”

“I enjoy The Matrix far too much to call you anything but Mr. Anderson,” Amos insisted.

Blaine laughed; the forced laugh of someone caught in a decidedly what-the-fuck situation. “Okay, um. What’s the question?”

Amos smiled at him; no teeth, eyebrows arched. “Are you gay, Mr. Anderson?”

Blaine stumbled and tripped over ums and uhs for a good twenty seconds before finally forming a coherent sentence. “Yeah, I’m gay,” he said. “My, um, my boyfriend is a senior at, uh, NYADA.” Blaine didn’t know why he’d added the unnecessary bit about Kurt, but he figured it was his subconscious trying to ward off any unwanted directorly advances.

“Oh, I’m quite well acquainted with many a NYADA teacher. I’ll ask around.” Amos flashed Blaine another disconcerting grin. “It’s an excellent school. Your boyfriend must be very talented.”

“He’s amazing,” Blaine murmured almost reverently. “Um, I actually have a question, too.”

“But of course,” Amos chuckled. “Fire away, Mr. Anderson.”

“I’m not trying to be rude or insubordinate, but where is everyone else?” Blaine asked, careful to omit the filler words in order to get his point across.

Amos threw his head back in laughter--full-on, crazy-ass maniacal laughter. “Oh, Mr. Anderson. It’s just us today. I don’t do this with everyone, you know.” He regained his composure, smirking at Blaine. “If you’ll please join me in the audience, I’d like to ask you a few work-related questions.”

Blaine stepped warily into the rows of seats. What the hell?

- - -

Blaine collapsed in the door at 10:34, wanting nothing more than to seek comfort in Kurt’s arms.

“Blaine! Is that you? I hope so. Not a fan of axe murderers,” Kurt called, and Blaine smiled at the bell-like chime of his boyfriend’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s me. Hold on just a sec.”

Blaine hung his messenger bag and coat up on the rack, then headed to the bedroom, where Kurt lay reading a paperback. Kurt smiled when he saw Blaine come in, and kept on smiling as Blaine stripped and got in bed beside him.

“Hey, honey,” Kurt cooed, kissing Blaine’s temple. “How was rehearsal?”

Just the innocent mention of “rehearsal” riled Blaine up anew, and he launched into the tale of the frustrating, creepy encounter--how it hadn’t even been a real rehearsal, and how Amos had taken an immediate liking to him.

“That’s good!” Kurt said, patting Blaine on the back. Kurt frowned when he saw Blaine’s furious expression. “Not good?”

“Not when he’s perving on you,” Blaine intoned. That shut Kurt up, and Blaine continued with the rant--how Amos had gone all Big Bad Wolf talking about his “infectious” smile; his promises of intensive one-on-one time; all they’d talked about after sitting down together in the audience.

“He, like, kept touching my shoulder and telling me I would bring something revolutionary to Mark, that I would...rejuvenate the role. He also gave me his phone number and told me to ‘call whenever.’ Professional directors don’t do that!” Blaine turned to Kurt, who shook his head no.

“You’re right, but Blaine, maybe he’s doing this with everyone.”

Blaine grunted. “Nope. He specifically said ‘I don’t do this with everyone.’ He also refuses to call me Blaine, because he’s too big a Matrix fan to call me anything but Mr. Anderson. I don’t like any of the vibes I’m getting from him.” Blaine let out a whine, then flopped dramatically onto his boyfriend’s bare chest. “Baby, I don’t want one-on-one time with my creepy director. Although,” he added, “I would love some quality time with a PBR or five right now.” He looked at Kurt with his most convincing puppy-dog eyes. “Pwease?”

Kurt laughed. “Get your hipster beer yourself,” he chuckled. “I know you had a bad day, Blainey, but I ain’t no chauffeur.”

The two shared a look before busting up laughing at Kurt's verbal faux pas.

“Ugh, you know what I mean,” Kurt groaned.

“I do. And while I totally would get it myself under any other circumstances, I’m just a little bit...naked right now.” Blaine poked the tip of his tongue through his teeth and winked at Kurt, who licked his own lips.

“Yes...yes, you are, and it is delicious.”

He smiled sweetly at Blaine, all innocence and light, but Blaine simply hitched an eyebrow up at him.

“Ugh, fine, you win,” Kurt conceded. “I’ll go get it, even though I’m totally losing my window of opportunity to watch that glorious ass in motion.”

Blaine winked, biting his lip as he watched his hot--albeit a bit overly clothed--boyfriend saunter out of their bedroom. If he was being honest, all Blaine wanted after the disconcerting “rehearsal” was to get tipsy...and, of course, coax a little lovemaking out of Kurt.

Blaine had to chuckle at how much he’d changed since high school. Back then, he’d been able to cement his status as the dapper, handsome Mr. Congeniality with a tip of his beige fedora, and no one--not even Santana Lopez--spent more than a little time thinking about the...intimate circumstances under which that facade would snap. It wasn’t a facade, per se; he would always be dapper and charming. However, he definitely possessed a wild streak that only Kurt could bring out of him. Ever since high school, whenever Blaine and Kurt got intimate, it was as though a whole new side of Blaine came out to play--a side of him who aimed to please, and knew how to do it. His acute knowledge of how to make Kurt beg and scream had been honed to perfection in the years since they first had sex, and he knew he would only get better at it in the years to come.

After what felt like years, Kurt came back in with a six-pack of beer. When he saw Blaine’s face, contorted in shock at the sheer amount of alcohol, he leveled his best bitch, please look at his boyfriend. “I know you, Blaine,” Kurt reminded him, “better than anyone. I know how you like to loosen up, and, while I don’t necessarily approve of getting drunk as a fail-safe method of relaxation, you’ve had a really weird day. You’ve had the bad kind of weird day. So I’ll give you your beer, and we’ll both enjoy the sex, sound good?”

Blaine sighed, looking up at Kurt besottedly. “I love the fuck out of you,” he breathed, pulling Kurt down on the bed next to him. “Share with me?”

“But of course, my darling,” Kurt replied, kissing his boyfriend’s lips over and over. “Can’t let you drink all by your lonesome. I was going to make myself a vodka soda or two, but...too messy.”

A good while later, after three beers each, they were both fairly tipsy. Kurt pulled Blaine into his lap like a ragdoll and started rubbing his shoulders.

“Mmm, Kurt, do me a favor and never stop doing that.” Blaine let out a purr as he cuddled up to Kurt, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne.

“I’ll have to stop soon, Blaine,” Kurt informed him, “or we won’t be able to have sex...remember?”

Blaine shot up in bed, fixing Kurt with a smoldering gaze. “Sex,” he breathed, low and husky. “Now. Yeah.”

He made short work of Kurt’s underwear, immediately scooting down under the covers to lick a stripe down the underside of Kurt’s cock. His boyfriend let out a deep, throaty moan, and Blaine took that as a good sign. He gave Kurt’s cock one last lick before taking the whole thing into his mouth and deepthroating him.

“Ohh, oh, Blaine, yes, baby,” Kurt breathed, high and wispy. “So good, God, yes, don’t stop...”

Blaine swirled his tongue sloppily around Kurt’s cock as he sucked, knowing that could bring his boyfriend over the edge.

“Ohhhh, oh my God, Blaine, so hot, so good--ohh, baby, gonna come, yes, mmm, yeah,” Kurt moaned as he came hard in Blaine’s mouth. Blaine swallowed all pulled off with a loud, wet pop, sliding back up to snuggle with Kurt, who subsequently ran a hand down Blaine’s chest to his cock, taking it in his hand and stroking slowly. Blaine’s dick was already leaking with precome, which provided the blissful slide that Blaine craved.

“Mmm, yes, Kurt, yes,” Blaine hissed, arching his back wantonly. “God, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you--oh--so hard,” he confessed, his voice taking on a whimpery, desperate tone.

Kurt groaned at Blaine’s words, nodding into his hair. “Yes.”

Blaine was a man of words during sex--particularly drunk sex--but luckily for him, Kurt was a man of action. In a split second, he had Blaine on top of him and kissing down his neck. Blaine’s lips passed his collarbone, stopped to suck on his nipple, and continued down to the base of his cock. Kurt was already hard again, but Blaine bypassed his cock in order to start fingering him open. Kurt’s breath came in pants as Blaine added one finger, then two, then three. As Blaine’s three fingers pushed in and out of him, Blaine leaned up to Kurt’s ear and whispered “are you ready, baby?”, his tone managing to be breathy and husky at once.

“God, Blaine,” Kurt whined, crying out in pleasure when Blaine twisted his fingers just so, brushing them against Kurt’s prostate. “Yes.”

“So pretty, babe,” Blaine breathed. “The prettiest.” He bent Kurt double against the pillow-covered headboard and pushed in at an achingly slow pace, bracing himself on the backs of Kurt’s thighs. “Oh, my God, Kurt, so tight...so fuckin’ tight,” he moaned.

“Oh, oh, Blaine, fuck, yes, right there,” Kurt groaned. “Feels so good.”

Fairly soon thereafter, the dirty talk devolved into grunts and moans and heavy breathing, Blaine fucking into Kurt harder and faster at Kurt’s urging.

“Blaine, oh, baby,” Kurt moaned, “gonna come, mmm, yes!”

Blaine kept thrusting as he took Kurt’s aching, leaking cock in his hand, stroking it rapidly until Kurt came, screaming his name. His ass clenched impossibly tight as his orgasm hit, and the pressure pushed Blaine over the edge.

Blaine pulled out slowly, savoring the whimper it brought out of Kurt. He fell back next to his boyfriend on the pillows, cuddling up to his chest.

“Feel better?” Kurt murmured, stroking Blaine’s face with his thumb.

“Mmm, much,” Blaine replied. “My skin doesn’t feel all crawly anymore. No more creepy director on the old noggin, he-he-he. Just me and my sexy boyfriend.” He paused. “We’re going to be so hungover tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt giggled, launching into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Blaine joined in, proving the conjecture that laughter is contagious.

Mere minutes later, the two fell asleep in each other’s arms, just as they did every other night. Kurt never failed to make Blaine feel safe, warm, and loved; Blaine needed that more than anything if he was going to spend the coming months working under a possibly lecherous director. He knew he was making a serious assumption about someone he barely knew, but he’d never been more convinced in his life.

He also really wanted to figure out what else Amos would be doing, if not local theatre. It couldn't be Broadway, or anything. No way.