Blaine sat next to his mother in the spacious back of the car, listening to her chatter to the same dark-haired aide from his father's nomination. The aide, revealed to be named Penny, had apparently been assigned to his father, and was currently briefing them on the cocktail party they were to while his father typed into his Blackberry. Some big donors to the campaign in attendance would need to be buttered up and reassured their special interests would be cared for if Sanders and Blaine's father were elected. Blaine knew his and his mother's role was to play the Loving Family: they would enter all together at the beginning to show his father was an "upstanding family man", and then they would be relegated to talking to the CEOs' wives about inconsequential topics while the men talked money.

"It won't be too heavy an event, more of a wine-and-dine, please-the-donors deal," Penny said. "Be sure you spend an good portion of time talking to the representatives from Goldman Sachs and Citigroup. And the wife of the treasurer of JPMorgan's PAC just had a baby, so make sure to ask after her," She scanned through her notes on her smartphone.

"And make sure you chat with Sanders's son, Blaine," his father interrupted distractedly. "He'll be there. Make nice with him, ask about his school, all of that." He waved his hand dismissively.

"Yes, dad," Blaine answered, knowing what he really meant was that he would have to suck up to Lyle Sanders. He had first met the guy, a sophomore at Georgetown, the day before. It was the Friday of his first long week back at school, and Blaine and his mother had just arrived in D.C. to accompany his dad to meet the candidate's family. Blaine didn't gather much from their short encounter, just that the governor's son had a drawling voice and the corner of his lip seemed perpetually quirked upward in a smirk. Blaine didn't really look forward to talking to Lyle, but he was accustomed to his father relying on him to charm people.

"Okay, we're here," Penny announced, and opened the door for the four of them.

Almost immediately after they entered the stately ballroom, some important benefactor swept his father away with a hearty greeting. Blaine's mother caught the eye of a passing waiter and beckoned, and he offered her a champagne flute off his tray. She sipped it primly, and within seconds, a sleek, dark-haired woman noticed the two of them.

"Ah, Theresa! It's good to see you!" the woman gushed, clasping Blaine's mother's hand. "I'm so glad you were able to come to my charity event for the American Veterans Foundation the other day. It meant so much that you were able to support us." She spoke animatedly, as though if she didn't use her entire face she would not be able to convey the depth of her gratitude.

Blaine's mother smiled amiably, "Lovely to see you too, Deborah. I'm glad you were able to raise so much money for such a worthy cause." She turned and patted Blaine's arm. "Have you met my son, Blaine?"

Deborah eyes alighted on him as though he were the most amazing thing she'd seen in a long time. "No, I haven't! How nice to meet you, Blaine," she greeted in a syrupy, pandering tone. She gripped Blaine's hand in both of hers.

Blaine summoned a charming smile. "It's a pleasure as well," he replied. "I remember my mother talking about your event afterward, and telling me how well organized it was. You truly put an admirable amount of time and effort into it." His mother, of course, had done no such thing, but Blaine knew how praise appealed to people.

It seemed to work. Deborah chuckled in mock self-effacement, and raised a palm as if to say, "oh, please," though she clearly enjoyed it. "You're such a dear."

Blaine's flattery had warmed her to him. "So, you must be applying to schools now, right? Where are you looking?" She blinked at him as she took a dainty sip of her champagne.

"Well, my intention is to go to Stanford and enter their pre-law program." Blaine smiled blandly, waiting for the standard response.

"Following in your father's footsteps, then?" Deborah nodded in approval. "He must be proud of you."

"I'm sure he is," Blaine agreed, but just like always, he did not know if he were speaking the truth.

The next hour passed in a series of similar conversations: an array of people asked Blaine about school and his intentions in college, and Blaine in turn inquired politely about whatever projects they were working on and acted as if he were genuinely interested. The topic of the upcoming election inevitably arose, and he discussed the same talking points countless times and commiserated about the state of the country under the current clearly ineffectual administration. Sanders and his father, of course, had to get elected and return the nation to its traditional infrastructure and values.

After a particularly lengthy conversation with a blustering man who had a mustache like a walrus, Blaine nabbed a champagne flute from one of the scattered trays. No one really minded if he had a glass or two, even though he was still a few years underage, and his mind was starting to feel fuzzy from the endless chattering. He was usually able to keep himself distant from all of it and politely skate through, but tonight for some reason his usual tolerance was slipping away.

Off to his right, Blaine recognized Lyle Sanders conversing with another college-aged man in a gray suit. He had assured his father he would talk to the governor's smarmy son, so Blaine shuffled over towards him. At his approach, Lyle looked up.

"Hello, again, Lyle. It's good to see you," Blaine said, offering his hand. Lyle took it with an appraising eye.

"Likewise, Anderson," he said, pumping Blaine's hand firmly. "This is my friend, Charlie Bergeron. He goes to Georgetown as well." He gestured flippantly to the man in the gray suit.

Blaine shook Charlie's hand politely. "How is Georgetown treating you? Still doing lacrosse?" he asked, remembering the tidbit from Penny's briefing.

Lyle chuckled. "Training every day. I was just telling Charlie here-" he motioned to his friend with his chin, "-how he should join. It's how I met my girlfriend, Julie."

Charlie immediately let out a braying laugh. He clapped Lyle on the shoulder, and added, "And quite a few other women as well. The ladies can't resist a sportsman."

Lyle smirked. "All the more reason to join."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty happy with my bachelor status," Charlie winked at Blaine. "Gives me more opportunity to look around, if you know what I mean."

Lyle scoffed, and returned slyly, "Hey, just because you have a girlfriend doesn't mean you have to stop looking."

"Or more than looking!"

Blaine turned away from where Charlie's face was crinkling up in amusement and grabbed another champagne flute from a passing waiter.

Lyle sobered, and seemed to remember Blaine. "So, Blaine, do you have a girlfriend?"

Blaine cleared his throat, and deflected. "No, not at the moment."

"Oh, did you just break up? That's rough."

Blaine kept his smile from faltering. "No, I just haven't met anyone right yet."

Lyle quirked an eyebrow. "You've never had a girlfriend?" At Blaine's cautious shake of the head, he raised both eyebrows. "Well, you might want to get one," he advised. "People will start to get suspicious."

"They'll start avoiding you in locker rooms," Charlie joked.

"That's not even inaccurate," Lyle drawled. "There's this guy on the team who I'm positive tried sneak a peek at my junk in the showers the other day. I had to have a talk with him. Like, look man, I don't want you spreading your homo over to me. I don't need someone jumping me every time I try to take a shower."

At Charlie's responding guffaw, Blaine felt a sudden chill, and gripped onto his champagne flute tighter. He let out a weak laugh. Lyle glanced over at him momentarily.

"Hey, you guys want something a little stronger than this? I made friends with one of the waitresses who can sneak us a bit of brandy," he said.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good," Blaine said a bit too readily. He wasn't sure he could get through this night anymore, and was willing to do whatever he needed to make it pass more easily.

~~~

Kurt bit his lower lip anxiously as he sat on the hotel bed, staring blankly at the page of his book. Santana's comment from earlier in the week about being afraid and not really living was still playing in his mind on a loop, and no matter what he did he couldn't shake it off. He didn't even have his father around to distract him: his dad was currently at some dinner engagement that was supposed to stretch late into the evening. That, too, worried him, as he knew his father would hate any event where he would have to engage in small talk and schmooze. It was part of the job, but with his dad's current stressed state, Kurt fretted that any extra strain might be just enough trigger another heart attack.

Kurt finally tossed his book away. It wasn't even as if he cared what Santana thought. Her idea of fun adventures involved promiscuous sexual activity and deliberate acts of sabotage. Just because she might end up in a jail cell someday didn't mean that he was at all inclined follow her example. Yes, he preferred to read at home or watch movies during sleepovers instead of raising hell and getting kicked out of glee club every other week. But he was still adventurous! He had tried joining the football team and the Cheerios those two times... although he did quit both after a few months. Kurt sighed, and strode over to the window to stare into the brightly lit D.C. night.

Across the street at the end of the block, he squinted at a neon sign proclaiming the entrance to a bar called "Faces." He had spotted it on the late drive in, noticing when a group of guys ducked through the entryway with no women in sight. Again, he watched as a couple of younger men approached the door, clad in form-fitting shirts and tight jeans. Even though they looked young, the bouncer didn't bother to peer at their IDs. Kurt gulped. Going to that bar was probably what Santana meant by adventurous.

He could probably get away with it, too. His dad had already said goodnight since he had left late, and wouldn't check up on him, assuming he would be asleep when he returned from dinner. Kurt would just come in quietly, and his dad would never know.

He paced across the room. He was entering college next year. Did he really want to arrive in New York without any real life experience? There were plenty of gay men in the cities all a thousand times more experienced than he was, while Kurt hadn't even had a boyfriend, let alone met another gay guy his age (at least one who didn't attempt to assault him). And most of all, Kurt wasn't afraid, like Santana said. He was simply acting with a sense of self-preservation since he lived in a small-minded town in Ohio.

But he wasn't in Ohio now. He was in a city, and right near a bar full of people who wouldn't threaten to assault him and were just like him. If he wanted to prove he wasn't scared, now would be the perfect time to do so. Closing his eyes briefly, Kurt reached a decision, and knelt down by his suitcase to pull out a black pair of jeans and a deep purple button-down and dark vest.

Twenty minutes later, ten of which were spent in the bathroom trying not to hyperventilate, Kurt tentatively left the hotel and advanced toward the entrance to Faces. He jutted his chin upwards and squared his shoulders, but he was not entirely convinced he had successfully projected a confident air. His heart outpaced the thumping bass, speeding in two-four time as the pulsing lights became visible from the entryway.

The burly bouncer looked Kurt up and down, leering appreciatively, and nodded, stepping aside to let him in. Kurt flushed, feeling suddenly dirty, but there was no turning back now. He walked inside and took in the scene.

The room was packed with men, standing and talking and dancing and drinking. Some congregated at the bar to order drinks and chat up other patrons, and some populated the dance floor, swaying their bodies to the beat. White lights flashed across the room in time with the music, briefly highlighting men as they crowded close to one another. Kurt looked on wide-eyed for a moment, stuck in the entryway, before he finally shook himself out of his stupor and walked to the bar. Despite his bad experiences with alcohol in the past, he was definitely going to need some help; otherwise, he would just stand stiffly like a plastic doll the entire night. He felt way out of his depth, but, goddammit, he was going to have a fun adventure if it killed him.

~~~

By some magical happenstance, Blaine managed to walk in a straight line from the cab to the bar entrance. But he wasn't sure if it mattered, anyway; the bouncer barely gave him a glance as he entered through the doorway into the dim flashing room.

Blaine wasn't sure how much brandy he ended up drinking with Lyle and Charlie, only that he chugged enough to feel a pleasant buzzing thrum through his body. He became vaguely aware he was beginning to talk louder, and some distant part of his brain mercifully remembered that he shouldn't embarrass his father. He left to find the waitress who had brought them the drinks, blinking through the spinning lights to tell her to inform his mother he was taking a cab back to the hotel. And he did have every intention of going straight back, but as the cab stopped at a red light, Blaine caught sight of a couple of men making out in front of a bar and a green neon sign blinking above them. He didn't know what made him do it, whether it was the stress of his father's VP campaign, or Lyle's warnings about people getting suspicious, or just the fact that he was drunk out of his mind for the first time in his life, but suddenly the building resentment of every begrudged chance to ogle other boys and school dances ending in disaster swelled and snapped inside of him. He yelled at the driver to stop and threw him some bills before jumping out of the car.

Blaine no longer had it in him to be nervous as he examined his new surroundings. He tried to focus his thoughts, but all that filled his mind were the men in pleasingly fitted clothes, all of whom were magnificently, fantastically gay. He may have been denied that every other day of his life, but right now they were in front of him and rationality had fled his brain when he started drinking. There was no way he could deny himself when the alcohol left him feeling bubbly and those shirts the men were wearing were so tight. Eagerly, Blaine approached the bar and after downed a shot of Bacardi (something he remembered his dad drinking), he waded out onto the dance floor. Despite the crush of sweaty bodies pressed in around him, Blaine found a small space for himself and he closed his eyes, moving his hips until he could feel the thumping of the bass sink all the way into his bones. He surrendered to the feeling and simply enjoyed the warmth and closeness of the bodies surrounding and bumping against him, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down when it became too hot.

When Blaine was next aware of opening his eyes, he found himself near the entrance and promptly caught sight of a boy, a beautiful boy, who looked about his age, walking into the bar. He had long legs sheathed in what looked like painted-on dark jeans and thick, immaculately-styled, chestnut hair. Blaine watched as he walked cautiously to the bar and ordered a beer. The boy gulped down about half of it, his throat bobbing enticingly as he did so.

Midway through his second beer, the boy noticed Blaine's heavy gaze and ducked his head, keeping his eyes deliberately aside for a few moments before bringing them back up to Blaine. He mouth dropped open slightly when he noticed Blaine's gaze hadn't wavered. Slowly, he met Blaine's eyes. Through the flashing colors, the boy's eyes shone such a striking shade of blue Blaine wasn't sure if it was a trick of the many lights. The boy hesitated, and finally gave a small smile.

That was all the invitation Blaine needed to weave through the bodies and stride towards him, the boy's eyes growing steadily wider as he advanced. When he was close enough, Blaine proffered his hand in invitation, and said, voice rough, "Dance with me."

The boy's jaw worked momentarily as he stared at Blaine. He was looking at him with something like shock or disbelief. He closed his mouth, bit his lip, and trembling, accepted Blaine's hand. His fingers were long and slender and soft against Blaine's hot skin, and Blaine felt something surge deep within his chest. He gripped onto the hand tightly and led the boy back onto the dance floor, thrilling at he had so easily accepted even though it was first time he had ever approached a boy. He found a small pocket of space for them on the crowded floor. He wrapped one hand around the boy's waist, delighting in the solid warmth and silky fabric. He dug his fingers into the folds, quickly closed the distance between them and hovered near enough to the boy's chest to feel the heat emanating from him. Blaine draped his other hand around him, and gently began swaying to the beat, guiding the other boy with him. At first the boy's body was rigid, shoulders stiff, but as Blaine kept dancing, he melted into the movement. His motions became fluid, his torso rolling so smoothly Blaine was quickly becoming entranced.

Blaine watched the boy in fascination, and saw the wary expression that had lingered on his face since he entered the bar begin to fade away. He moved with such deliberation, feeding off of the close atmosphere and Blaine's eager dancing. He seemed to feel the same way as Blaine, losing himself to the music as the dance wore on, like his worries were floating away and he was free of judgment. The growing ease intrigued Blaine even more, and he gripped his hands tighter in the small of the boy's back.

Suddenly the boy broke away, and Blaine looked up in shock before he noticed the smirk on his face. He sashayed backwards, running his hands up and down his deep purple shirt and gyrating his hips in way that made Blaine nearly growl aloud with need. Blaine caught up to where the boy had turned around and was snapping his hips with a coquettish smile. He discarded all sense of personal space, draping himself over the boy's back. He encircled his waist and brought his face close to the where the lights were flashing on curve of his neck, so enticing that for once, he did not hold himself back. He grazed his lips against the skin, the heat from his breath causing the boy to shudder. The boy was so close and yet not close enough, and Blaine could not bear it any longer.

Blaine whipped out a hand to grip the boy's toned bicep and pulled him around roughly. Those blue eyes were looking at him with surprise that quickly turned into lust as Blaine pressed their bodies flush together so that he could feel every inch of him, from his hot chest to the hip bones. The boy wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck, dragging him close. They moved in tandem again to the music, moving as one to the beat. Blaine stuck a thigh between the boy's legs, drawing out a gasp that sent a thrill through Blaine. He brought his mouth to the boy's jaw, dragging his teeth along the bone and circled the tip of his tongue at the hinge. The breathy moans the boy was releasing intoxicated Blaine, and he placed his entire mouth on his neck, sucking and licking along it with a renewed vigor, desperate to hear more. He moved down to his collarbone, and dragged his hands around from the boy's back to his chest, pulling up his shirt to run his hands up his chest that was oh so firm and soft-

Once again, the boy pulled away, but this time there was no playful smirk, only heavy breathing. He held a hand on Blaine's chest to keep him at an arm's distance.

"Wait, stop," he panted. "I- you're drunk, and we're in public- oh, God. We have to stop. I'll- I'll hail you a cab or something, okay?" He looked at Blaine beseechingly.

Blaine blinked a few times, struggling to understand through his haze of lust and alcohol. He attempted to take a step but stumbled, fumbling with the sudden attempt to think sensibly when he was finally beginning to throw off his inhibitions. The boy caught him before he could fall.

"Shit, yeah, that's exactly what I mean. You're really drunk. God, what was I thinking? I just- you were just so gorgeous, and staring at me like, like-" He pressed his hand to his face and drew a deep breath. "Okay, c'mere, I can't leave you like this." He wrapped an arm around Blaine's waist and began to half-carry him out of the bar. Blaine attempted to sputter a few words of protest but the boy just shushed him until they emerged onto the brightly lit street. He let go of Blaine's waist, and Blaine watched numbly while he attempted to hail a taxi. It only took a minute before one pulled up to the curb.

"Yes! This bodes well for when I go to New York," Blaine could hear him mutter under his breath as he helped Blaine onto the worn leather backseat. When he was safely inside, the boy blinked once, and then turned to him.

"Do you have money?" he asked. Blaine nodded, and then stopped abruptly as it made his brain go fuzzy.

"Okay, good. Uh, make sure you go straight home, okay? I mean, I'm pretty sure you're underage, too, and you could get into trouble or hurt yourself or something." He bit his lip and gazed at Blaine searchingly.

"I...it was nice meeting you?" He paused, squeezing his eyes shut. "I mean- you're a good dancer even though you were sloppy." His eyes flew open wide. "But I'm sure you're normally not sloppy! Like that thing you did with your tongue was very impressive." The boy grimaced and pulled his head out of the car.

He prepared to shut the door, but hesitated, seeming to consider something. He added softly, "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Blaine gazed up at him into those clear blue eyes and replied just as quietly, "Yeah, you too." And then the door slammed shut and he was gone. Blaine stared out the window for a long moment until the driver asked, "Are we going or not?"

Blaine jerked away and rattled off the address of the hotel and soon they were zooming away off into the heart of the nation's capital.

~~~

Kurt watched the taxi fly away with a strange feeling in his chest. It was definitely the right thing to do, as the boy, who was wearing a tie for some reason, was extremely drunk and had been from the moment he held out his hand to dance. But he was also the first boy Kurt had ever danced with, and maybe that was why he had even taken the boy's hand against his better judgment. Or maybe because he was devastatingly gorgeous and had been staring at him in that scorching way or maybe because there was something about him that seemed inexplicably familiar to Kurt. There was no reason for him to be, as Kurt was thousands of miles from home, but the feeling was there nonetheless, and it lured Kurt to him, enticing him to stay and let their dancing progress to that heady necking in the middle of the bar.

Kurt shook his head in embarrassment at the memory and began walking down the street to his hotel. The light buzz he had acquired had mostly worn off, and now he just felt tired. He dragged his feet and wondered if Santana would approve. He figured she would, and quip "Wanky," or something similarly crude. Yet she would probably be disappointed stopped the dancing when he did and let the boy go without even asking for his number. But doing that would have been endlessly stupid. He met the boy in a gay bar, for christ's sake, and let the guy suck on his neck after only three words spoken between them. What if this was a thing he did? Prey on a shy non-local in the bar, seduce him and then take him back to his place while wearing the remains of an expensive designer suit? But the boy had looked really lost at the end when Kurt pulled away, like he was overwhelmed and confused and not as sure of himself as he seemed when he asked Kurt to dance. And that suit definitely was not appropriate attire for a bar. And Kurt definitely played along while they were dancing.

Kurt slipped into the hotel and made his way to his room. For once he did not bother with his moisturizing routine, and simply peeled off his clothes, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, and collapsed in bed. He could think about what it all meant tomorrow when he no longer felt like a walking corpse.


Kurt woke the next morning to a staccato knocking on his door. He whined in protest, rubbing his face; it felt like he had only just collapsed in bed seconds ago. Squinting one eye open, he glanced at the clock. 5 A.M. Even if he hadn't gone out last night, this would in no way qualify as beauty rest.

"Kurt. Kurt, wake up. I gotta talk to you, bud. Something important." Kurt's father's voice sounded faintly muffled through the door. Kurt fought the urge to groan, and rolled out of his bed, barely pulling on a shirt before he opened the door. He blinked in surprise.

Not only was his dad standing outside his door, but so were two men and a woman, all wearing suits and looking impeccably groomed. Kurt suddenly became aware of the fact that he was wearing his pajama bottoms and his hair was sleep-mussed. If there was anything Kurt hated to be, it was unkempt. He fought the urge to shake his head to hopefully get his brain started.

"Uh, dad?"

His dad was frowning, looking irritated. "These people woke me up out of a sound sleep ten minutes ago, telling me that they needed to discuss something important. But they wouldn't tell me what it was until you were there, too," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over the top of his head.

The woman in the front of the others extended her hand, smiling grimly. Viewed up close, even her skillful makeup application (though a bit heavy on the eyeliner) could not cover the fact that her face looked worn as if it had been a while since she slept. "My name is Penny Hendricks. I work for Senator William Anderson," she introduced herself.

Kurt accepted her hand blankly. "Okay," he said, unsure of how this applied to him and wondering why someone so important was knocking on his door. How did they find him anyway? Did all people in Washington have the ability to find other politicians whenever they wanted? Or did just the higher ups have that power?

"Can we come in?" Ms. Hendricks asked, but her tone was clipped and firm, one that left no room for refusal. She bustled into the room, the men behind her on her tail. His dad followed, evaluating the three of them distrustfully.

"Have a seat," Ms. Hendricks offered, despite the fact that she was in Kurt's room. Kurt sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and his dad pulled out the desk chair and brought it to the foot. Kurt looked up at them, waiting, but his dad chose a more forceful route.

"So, are you going to tell us what the hell is going on, and what this has to do with my son?" he demanded.

Ms. Hendricks nodded curtly. "Basically, Congressman Hummel, your son was implicated in an incident last night involving the senator's son. Apparently there were witnesses who recognized him, and we are now attempting damage control."

"What are you- Kurt, what is she talking about? Kurt was here last night, in the hotel," his dad sputtered in confusion and growing anger.

Kurt sat dumbly on the bed, comprehension gradually dawning on him through his fading stupor. He stared up at Ms. Hendricks.

"That... that was William Anderson's son?" Kurt whispered, disbelieving. He struggled to remember his name. She nodded primly.

His father was looking between the two of them, working to understand what he was missing. "What do you have to do with Anderson's son, Kurt? What happened?"

Kurt stared at his hands, unsure how to even begin telling the story to his father. He didn't want to scandalize him, but he didn't know what exactly had been overseen. Ms. Hendricks, however, had no such reservations.

"Your son and Blaine Anderson were seen dancing together at a gay bar late last night. Someone took video footage of it and is threatening to release it if we don't agree to their terms," Ms. Hendricks spoke briskly.

"They what?" His dad turned on him, eyes so wide it might have been comical if he weren't so angry. A vein pulsed in his forehead. "You went to a freaking gay bar, Kurt?! You're underage, what were you thinking?" He pulled himself out of his chair, gesticulating wildly. He probably would have been pulling on his hair if he had any. "Do you know what could've happened, on your own in a strange city? You not only snuck out, you could have gotten hurt!"

Kurt looked away, distraught. "I don't know, Dad! I wasn't thinking. Santana was just saying the other day how I'm too afraid and I'm not really living, and I just- I guess it got to me, I don't know. But, please, Dad, just calm down. Don't get worked up, okay?" Kurt looked up at him anxiously now.

His dad slowed his pacing, shaking his head. "So you decided to go out on your own and flirt with strangers? Christ, kid, I just don't know with you sometimes." He rubbed a hand over his head.

Ms. Hendricks took advantage of the pause to resume speaking. "We're going to need both you and your son to come with us to Senator Anderson's hotel, Congressman Hummel. There are some non-disclosure agreements to sign. We need to get this settled as soon as possible so nothing gets out. I'm sure you don't want Kurt to be embarrassed publicly in this way."

His father eyed her, the implication sinking in. "Anderson's son is gay? Jesus."
Ms. Hendricks's jaw tightened. "As I said, Congressman Hummel, we need to bring you to his hotel to resolve this quickly."

His dad sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright, but give us a few minutes to get dressed."

Thirty minutes and an awkwardly silent car ride later, Kurt, his dad, Ms. Hendricks and the senator's two other employees pulled up to a swanky hotel in the heart of D.C. The bellhop scurried over and opened the car door for them, and the group piled out. The Hummels were hurriedly escorted into the hotel, through the lobby, and into a mirrored elevator. Kurt's ears popped as it rose swiftly to one of the highest storeys, and seconds later it opened up into a hallway with the few doors spaced far apart. Ms. Hendricks slid a key into the nearest one, and pushed it ajar, gesturing for the Hummels to enter.

Inside was a small meeting room, the center occupied by a oval, mahogany table and oriental carpet. Lining the table were five rolling chairs per side, only one of which, on the left, was occupied. The figure was slumped over, forehead resting on the table and palms pressing into the sides of his head. He wore a dark blue button-down shirt that was familiar to Kurt, as his fingers had been clutching the same fabric just hours ago.

"Senator Anderson will be here shortly," Ms. Hendricks informed them, and the door closed with a click. Kurt whipped his head around, exchanging a perplexed glance with his dad. Blaine Anderson still had not looked up. Now that there was proper lighting and Kurt knew who he was, he recognized that short dark hair. But while it was customarily severely gelled back, now it was half-undone and stubbornly curling on the sides.

Kurt's dad pulled out one of the chairs on the right side, sitting in it heavily, and Kurt took the seat next to him that was across from the senator's son. He stared at the boy, whose his last encounter with had been when Kurt shoved him into the back of a cab. But Blaine didn't look up or even move, only the slightest raising and lowering of his back to show he was breathing.

The door burst open and William Anderson marched in, Ms. Hendricks on his heels. The genial smile Kurt remembered seeing on TV while he waved to the audience was replaced by a grim line. His dark brown hair was no longer in its neat swoop, but slightly flat and rumpled in the back. His suit, however, was primly pressed and showed no signs of wear.

"Okay, show me whatever it is, Penny. I didn't get full details earlier on what exactly happened," Senator Anderson said in a businesslike manner, pulling out a chair two down from his son. He didn't even look at him.

Kurt glanced to Blaine. He had finally turned his head, and was looking at his father. His lips were tightly pressed together. Kurt remembered the heat of those lips on his neck and shuffled awkwardly.

Kurt's attention was brought back to Ms. Hendricks as she opened a laptop in front of them.

"This is a video taken by one of the other patrons on their cell phone. It seems they recognized Blaine and felt this could be used as good leverage to make some fast money," Ms. Hendricks informed her boss. She brought up the video and pressed play.

The screen waved wildly as the camera operator attempted to steady it, bass pounding heavily through the low quality speakers. The picture righted itself, and when the lights flashed the edge of Kurt's face became visible, angled to the side towards his partner, who was pressed close to his back. Blaine's face was much clearer, eroding any potential hope that the video may be too grainy or far away to recognize the senator's son. His hands were resting low on Kurt's hips. In real time, Kurt bit the inside of his cheek; he didn't remember those hands being so low. The screen blurred for a few moments as a of couple men walked in front of the camera, and when it refocused, the senator's son was sucking on Kurt's neck. Kurt was clearly enjoying it, and a few more excruciating seconds passed as his mouth opened in pleasure, until finally, mercifully, the Kurt on the screen came to his senses and pulled away. He then leaned into the senator's son to exchange a few words, and they left together with Kurt's arms enveloping Blaine. The video ended.

Kurt felt sick to his stomach. He knew what the end of the video looked like. The room was painfully silent, and Kurt could feel his face burning as he assiduously studied the wood of the table to avoid looking into anyone's eyes, horribly conscious of his father next to him. Finally, Senator Anderson broke the silence.

"Is there... anything else we should know about what happened, Blaine?" he asked tightly, fists clenched on the table. There was a pause, and Kurt braved revealing his face to glance up at Blaine.

Blaine was now sitting up, one hand gripped in his hair with his eyes closed.
"He got me a cab, Dad." His voice was weary. "And then he walked away. It's not like I gave him a blowjob or anything."

Kurt could feel his face begin to burn again. He deliberately turned away from his father's face. Senator Anderson gritted his jaw, and he said, "Stop being insolent, Blaine."

But Blaine was just warming up, it seemed. "That's about as gay as it gets huh, Dad? Having another guy's dick in your mouth? Wouldn't be able to ignore that so easily, would you?" Blaine was full out yelling now, and he stumbled up out of his chair to face his father, tripping on the leg as he stood.

Senator Anderson looked his son up and down. "You're still drunk."
"Yeah, well, I had a lot to drink," Blaine rubbed his eyes with his fists. "I couldn't listen to Lyle Sanders worry about homos peeking at his junk any longer without the need to self-medicate."

"So you decided to get drunk and leave? Don't you know how to exercise self-control?" The senator raised himself from seat and faced his son. "You've never pulled anything like this before! Why do you do this to me now, when the election is in less than two months? Are you trying to sabotage everything I've worked for?" he yelled. Kurt winced.

Blaine scoffed in response, and threw his arms in the air. "Of course! Of course, this is something I'm doing to you. It's not about me. God, I can't do this anymore!" He turned and attempted to flounce back into his seat, but his poor coordination made him knock back the rolling chair and he fell onto the floor in a heap. He crawled the few feet to the wall and leaned against it.

Senator Anderson looked down at his son with hard eyes for a few beats. "Pull yourself together, Blaine. You're embarrassing yourself in front of a congressman," he said quietly. "I'm going to do whatever we can to clean up your mess." And with that, he turned and exited the room. A weighty, nearly tangible silence fell over the remaining occupants.

Ms. Hendricks, who had been standing in the corner of the room for the whole encounter, faced Kurt's father. "I'm going to go get the non-disclosure agreement for you to sign, Congressman Hummel." At his steely nod, she turned to the boy on the floor.

"Blaine," she said.

Blaine did not answer. He was slouched with his legs spread out, arms limp by his sides and head leaned back against the wall. His eyes were closed.
"Blaine," she tried again, tapping her foot.

"Jesus, just let the kid be for a moment," Kurt's dad interrupted.

Ms. Hendricks glanced over at him, pressing her lips together. But she didn't fight it, and exited the room, returning a moment later with the thick forms. She placed them in front of his dad.

"Kurt, since you're of legal age, you need to sign, too," she instructed, and Kurt took her pen, flipping to the back page to scrawl his signature. He didn't really care about the legalese. His dad shot him a disapproving look. He'd always taught Kurt to read documents before signing them.

"Let me look it over," his dad harrumphed.

"Fine," Ms. Hendricks said. "When you're done there's a car waiting in front of the lobby to take you both back to your hotel. We're going to do damage control." She walked towards the door, before glancing back at Blaine, who hadn't moved.

"Blaine, when you've pulled yourself together, you're going to need to go to your room and pack. You'll be checking out of the hotel shortly." When Blaine did not respond, she sighed and left, door slamming shut behind her.

Once again, a heavy silence fell over the room. Kurt glanced at his father, who was looking at Blaine searchingly. His dad's mouth opened once, as if he were going to say something, and then closed, shaking his head. He drew the papers in front of him, and began to read, looking up at the boy occasionally. Kurt looked to Blaine as well. The boy was still as ever, eyes and mouth shut. His brow was furrowed in what looked like pain. Kurt bit his lip and stood up from his chair. He ignored his father's gaze and stepped slowly towards the boy on the floor. He kneeled by him, tucking his legs to one side.

"Blaine?" he asked, and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

Like he had pressed a magic button, Blaine instantly crumpled and hugged himself around Kurt. He buried his face in Kurt's neck and let out a single dry sob. Kurt looked up in alarm at his dad, who was looking back at the two of them in equal astonishment.

Closing his mouth, which had opened in surprise, Kurt uncertainly began to rub his hand down Blaine's back, who shuddered at the contact. He snuggled deeper into Kurt, breathing quaveringly into his shirt. "I'm sorry," he wailed into the fabric, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. God, I- I screwed up. I just- I'm sorry."

Kurt looked up to his dad helplessly again as the clinging boy moaned apologies into is collar. His dad returned his gaze sympathetically, and motioned towards Blaine. Kurt understood what his father was trying to say: Blaine obviously needed comfort right now. He continued to rub Blaine's back, murmuring, "It's okay," and other platitudes, shushing the boy until he began to quiet. It was several minutes later when Blaine's sobs tapered off into heaving sighs. He shifted his head in Kurt's neck, and finally murmured, "I've never been drunk before. 'S'it always like this?"

Kurt couldn't help the huff of breath that escaped from between his lips. "I wouldn't know. I've only been drunk once, also, and that was two years ago. I called my guidance counselor 'Bambi' and threw up on her shoes."

Blaine didn't respond, chest swelling lightly as he breathed in and out. Kurt's dad also remained silent, only the occasional flick of paper reminding them of his presence, but Kurt knew he was listening. Blaine snuffled in his neck.

"This is the worst day of my life," he said, then amended, "No, wait, the second worst day." His words were still slightly slurred, but his speech was much clearer than before.

Suddenly he opened his eyes, staring at Kurt. "Oh, but not you, I mean. You were nice. Like really nice. You didn't have to get me that cab, and you did." He closed his eyes again, and re-settled on Kurt's shoulder. "Kurt," he murmured. "You even have a nice name." Blaine grasped Kurt's waist tighter where his grip had fallen slack. "You were the most beautiful boy in that entire room," he confided. "No one else... I couldn't look away."

Kurt's breath caught in his throat. It was the first time anyone had called him beautiful, let alone a boy his age. Granted, the boy was drunk, but he seemed to be sobering up, and he was gay. Kurt pressed his lips together tightly and skated the hand rubbing Blaine's back to his shoulder so he could hug him closer. He was reminded of Blaine's face in the back of the taxi. Despite Blaine's more forward drunken behavior when they danced a few hours ago, this Blaine simply seemed sweet and lost, and was clinging to Kurt just so he could have something to hold on to.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt whispered into his sweat-damp hair, stroking his arm.

Blaine lifted his head again, looking at Kurt quizzically. "You're sorry? Why are you sorry? It was me who couldn't control myself, and got recognized, and had to bring your father into this... oh God." Blaine's eyes grew wide with dread, flashing his gaze fleetingly at Kurt's dad. "I just... I just outed you to your dad. I can't believe I- how could I be so selfish, you just-" Blaine's voice was growing high with hysteria.

Kurt's dad interrupted. "Hey, hey kid, don't work yourself into a frenzy. I already knew. And I love Kurt all the same," he said firmly, but kindly.

Blaine blinked twice, head flipping between the two of them. He settled on Kurt. "Wha- what?"

Kurt smiled down at him, a little sadly. "Yeah, I'm out. To my dad and school and everything. Have been since my sophomore year."

It seemed to take a while for Blaine to digest this new information. As it sunk in, his brows knit together and he frowned. He looked away in agitation, rubbing his hairline where Kurt noticed a small faintly raised line.

Blaine struggled to form his next question. "Are people... are they mean to you?" he asked.

Kurt looked into his downcast eyes and dropped his hands into his lap.
"Sometimes," he admitted. "I'll still get the occasional locker check or slushie thrown into my face, but it's much better than before. Most people are used to it, and I have an amazing group of friends who love and support me."

Blaine looked up at the last part, gazing into Kurt's eyes with disbelief and a desperate hope. Kurt's heart ached in that moment, struck again with how lost the boy looked. He remembered feeling like that once, but he had come out instead of pushing his feelings down and letting them stew for years. Kurt wondered if his eyes would look so conflicted and anguished if he had denied himself as well.

"Give me your phone," Kurt urged suddenly.

"What? Why?" Blaine asked, but he was reaching into his back pocket. Kurt took the slim black smartphone.

"I'm giving you my number," he said, hands shaking a little as he typed. "If you ever want someone to talk to, or just to listen to you vent, then call me. Don't worry about bothering me or anything. Even if you just want to chat about your day. Okay?" He handed the phone back to Blaine.

Blaine stared at it. "Okay," he replied softly.

A chair squeaked off to the side. Kurt whipped his head around to see his dad getting to his feet, using the table for leverage. He walked around the table to stand in front of them.

"I signed the form, but I have a meeting in an hour I need to get to," he said apologetically. "We have to get going, son."

Kurt nodded, and heaved himself to his feet. He stuck a hand out to help Blaine up and steadied him.

"D'you think you can make it to your room okay, kid?" Kurt's dad asked Blaine. The boy nodded shakily. Blaine only stumbled once as they exited the room, passing a security guard. The elevator's doors pinged open, and within seconds it stopped at Blaine's floor. He hesitated, looking at the two of them, and Kurt's dad told him, "Take care of yourself now, alright?" Blaine nodded again, biting his lip, and met Kurt's eyes.

"I really mean it, you can call me," Kurt promised, touching his arm briefly. Blaine's eyes lingered on him a moment, and he nodded a third time, exciting the elevator. Then the doors sealed shut and they swooped back down to the bottom floor and the car Senator Anderson's people left waiting for them.