The first few times he'd put down the phone out of sheer panic. How many more people could he disappoint?

The last time, his watch had tumbled out of his pocket with his cell, thumping mutedly on the carpet as it landed. He’d stopped dead, staring at it for a long moment before he pushed his cell back into his pants pocket. He could do this. No, he had to do this.

That day so long ago, the day he'd walked, shaky and stunned, out of the lift he shared with Kurt, he’d made his way straight to the copy room and found a pen, scrawling down the note he’d seen in Kurt’s hands. Sometimes we forget who we really are. He tore it off, folding it carefully and pressing it inside the pocket watch to remind himself, to keep reminding himself, that he’d forgotten who he used to be.

The week had gone by in an instant, and at the same time took far too long. Come Friday night, he was finally there, waiting in the side-stage makeshift dressing room with the other cast members as they moved through their oft-practiced ritual of sliding and shimmying into costumes. The pressed white shirt hanging over his shoulders was unbuttoned at the front, and his pants were far too loose (to get them off quickly, he was told). He mentally kicked himself over and over for belatedly realising he was going to be on a stage in front of hundreds of people in his underwear.

Smart, Blaine, he scolded himself. You’re a fucking genius.

He glanced down at his clothes awkwardly, peering through lens-less costume glasses and fumbling as he tried to do up one button after another with trembling hands.

“Come on now, sweetcheeks.” A girl dressed as Janet jogged up to him with a kind smile. “No need to be shy, you’re gonna be out there in your undies soon enough.”

A laugh escaped him, shaky and punching out in a tiny rhythm. “I guess, you’re right.”

“Aw, you’re nervous? Don’t worry, first night everybody fucks up a bunch of times, you’ll be fine. Laugh it off, keep going, you’re here to have fun. I promise I won’t bite, but I can’t promise to keep my hands off your ass, goddamn boy,” she insisted, leaning back to get a better view. “That is… wow. I hope you’re a bottom or that thing is going to waste!”

He almost choked on his own spit, staring at her in wide-eyed shock. “Excuse me?”

“Someone should have warned you about Janet here,” Magenta added with a smirk as she came to Blaine’s side. “She has no filter.”

“Filterless,” Janet agreed. “Filter free. De-filtered. Now with a hundred percent less filter.”

“See?”

“Shut up, Madge,” Janet added with an amused glare.

“So Mr. Majors,” Magenta began, sliding her arm over Blaine’s shoulders. “Excited for your premiere performance?”

Right on cue, Blaine lost his footing and stumbled neatly into the wall.

“Ah, the pre-show wall bumping ritual,” she intoned with mock seriousness, folding both arms over her ample chest. “I know it well. Don’t worry, happens to the best of us. Met Frank yet?”

“I… uh… well,” Blaine stammered, blinking behind his frames as he tried to push the flashing images of garter straps and red lipstick from his mind. “That is, I’ve – yes.”

Magenta grinned, and Blaine realised that watching her was basically like looking at a shark in a maid’s uniform.

“Don’t worry sugar, he has that effect on everyone.”

“And she means everyone,” Janet added, fanning herself dramatically. “Okay sweetness, we’re up in ten, I’ll let you finish getting dressed. So you can get out there and we can kiss you, strip you, grope you, lie on top of you and serenade you, all in the name of entertainment.”

“God, I love my job,” Madge enthused, nodding for emphasis before she and Janet slinked away, arm in arm.

Blaine watched them go, still lost for words, before he caught sight of Kim – Trixie, he reminded himself – across the room. She was chatting with a tall blond man in gold boyshorts, and gesticulating wildly above her head. Whatever she was talking about, she wasn’t happy.

Something in his gut churned anxiously, but the feeling of cool, soft fingers slipping into the back of his belt jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Don’t worry about Rocky,” Frank said, hot breath gusting over Blaine’s ear. “He’s just a little hands-on with some of the cast. Needs to be put in line sometimes.”

Blaine gulped, and wondered if it was panic rising in his throat or just nerves as practiced fingers trailed lightly up and down his spine under his shirt.

“Shh, hey,” Frank whispered after Blaine’s frame tensed under his hand. “You’ll be fine. After you get through tonight, it'll get a lot easier.”

Letting out a long, ragged breath, Blaine closed his eyes and fought the instinct to rock back into the body behind him. Frank’s fingers were working against his muscles now, firm and slow, calming him down. He hummed softly, lost to the soothing sensation flooding his skin.

With a rare, warm smile, Frank dipped his head and pressed against Blaine’s temple. It was a strange gesture, immediately intimate in a way Blaine was unfamiliar with. He realised Frank was all but wrapped around his body, somehow covering him while barely touching him. The tease of heat pouring over him sent a sharp warning straight to Blaine’s cock, and he was suddenly aware that he was already half-hard. He bit down on his lip to trap a whimper in his throat as fingers ghosted lightly over his hips.

At the shiver that rippled through him, the fingers stopped for a moment before gripping his sides firmly and tugging him backwards. His back met with Frank's chest as they slipped into a crevice behind the curtain, out of sight.

“Wh-what are you – what –wh-”

“Shh, you big baby, come here,” Frank scolded, pulling Blaine in tight against him again and sliding both hands over his stomach. “You need to relax.”

“It’s a bit hard to relax when I’m being pulled around,” Blaine hissed back, trying to turn and look at the man behind him. His mouth came up under Frank’s chin, and as his lips grazed over the pale column of his neck, he felt time stop. The smell was stronger now, that heady cologne scent that lingered under their last kiss. Blaine felt dizzy and hyper-aware all at once.

Frank’s hands slipped down Blaine’s stomach, flat palms dragging over exposed skin and into his pants.

Blaine’s voice went up an octave. “O-oh, my god, what are you d-?”

“Helping you relax,” Frank insisted, lips pressed into Blaine’s hair as he whispered against him. “Now shut up, or we’ll get caught.”

“I – I don’t do this, I never,” Blaine’s voice cut off with a groan as Frank’s fingers found their way into his briefs. “Oh god, yes. Please.”

Wearing a knowing smile, Frank stroked him gently, gliding his coiled fist up the length Blaine’s cock and swirling his thumb over the head in one smooth movement. The pressure and the slide shot sparks of lightning into Blaine’s veins. Frank’s other hand had moved up his body, now bracing his chest and holding him in tight, almost like he was cradling him. Blaine's body melted into the embrace; perfect, and warm, and everything he’d forgotten he needed like oxygen.

It struck him like a gunshot, the awareness that this was real, and he was in a man’s arms for the first time in a long time. He wondered absently through gasps of air if this is what heaven tasted like; sugar cherry, and him.

Trying to keep in the sounds that threatened to spill out of him, Blaine tipped his head back, rolling it to the side and burying his mouth in the curve where Frank’s neck met his collarbone. He sucked gently on the skin between panting breaths as Frank’s coiled fist picked up speed, and their hips rolled together in unison.

Blaine’s hand snaked up to cup the back of Frank’s neck, trying to force their bodies closer together. He didn’t care about the angle or the rough pull of the costume, about the edge of the corset digging into his side; he just needed more. More of this, more of whatever was happening to him right now, because he’d never felt anything so real and right and perfect in his entire life. There was a stranger curled tight around his body, holding him like they’d done this a thousand times before, and somehow it felt like they had.

He moaned, muffling the sound against Frank’s throat as the hand wrapped around him pumped faster, and a firm squeeze set off alarm bells up his spine. “Oh god, I’m-”

In an instant the warmth was gone, slipping down behind him as Frank dropped to his knees and turned. Blaine barely registered the feeling of being pressed back, of the empty glasses frames tumbling from his face, and his briefs and pants being pulled down. All he felt was the strange rush of cold that hit right before a mind-shattering wave of wet, incredible warmth sliding down and enveloping his cock. He threw his head back, eyes rolling up into his skull as he scrambled for purchase on the walls and came harder than he ever had before.

“Ku- ohh my god.”

He barely kept himself from collapsing to the floor, held up only by the plaster wall and the grip on both his thighs from the man beneath him.

“What did you say?”

Blaine blinked, trying to bring his mind back into focus. “W-what?”

“What did you say, a minute ago?” Frank asked again, the tone of voice bordering on concerned.

“I – I said... um. Oh my god?” Blaine murmured slowly, trying to form proper words. “That. I. That was…”

Frank narrowed his eyes for a moment, staring up from beneath perfectly painted angled brows like he was trying to decipher a code in Blaine’s face. All Blaine could do was blink stupidly down at him, still numb and trying to hear past the whistle in his ears.

Before he could put together what was happening, Frank tucked him back into his pants, drawing them up and together as he got to his feet on those absurdly tall boots. He adjusted Blaine’s costume methodically, buttoning his shirt up to his collar and smoothing it down with his fingers, gaze fixed on his hands as they worked.

“Thank you,” Blaine whispered, watching the dip of Frank’s profile as he moved. “I’ve never, that – that was... Thank you.”

“Easier than finding you a new pair of tighty whities,” Frank said playfully, patting Blaine on the ass. He smirked, and in an instant that gentle side of him vanished behind the scarlet-lipped smile from that first night. “Don’t get your panties twisted up, it was a blowjob. Helps the nerves. Now you’re on.”

“I’m on?”

Frank tipped his head in confirmation, and the drone in Blaine’s ears gave way to the distant sounds of the opening song.

“Oh crap!” He pushed past, almost tripping over the table and barely managing to keep himself from faceplanting on the ground as he staggered towards the curtain. At least backstage was clear: nobody had seen them.

“Hey!” Frank’s voice called out behind him, and he wheeled on the spot.

Frank slid smoothly over to him, entirely too graceful for a man on four inch heels, and handed him the empty frames. “You need these,” he said teasingly. “And – hey!” he called again as Blaine shoved the glasses over his nose and resumed his mad rush towards the curtain. He stopped again, looking back.

“Don’t forget your jacket,” Frank pointed to the second table.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, frantically tugging on the rest of his costume and slipping through the velvet waves of fabric.

On the other side he met with half the cast, sitting quietly on the steps and waiting for their cues. Janet’s face lit up the moment she spied him, and she reached for his hand. “Where were you? No time for that now, come on, we’re on in a sec.”

“Where’s my favorite finely crafted fairy ass?” a deep voice asked to his right, and Blaine peered into the shadows at the smirking blond boy who’d spoken.

“Shut the fuck up, Rocky,” Magenta snapped, and glared when the boy thrust his hips at her. “Put some ice on it,” she growled.

Blaine’s jaw had set, and was aching from how hard his teeth were clenched. Even with his post-orgasmic haze still lingering at the periphery of his mind, there was no softening that sick little smile. He didn’t like this guy at all.

A flash of movement and light caught his attention as Frank slipped through the curtains, and he smiled softly when their eyes met. Frank raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t smile back.

“What took you so long, Ladypipes? Had to get someone’s tongue out of that fine ass before you could walk again?” Rocky taunted.

Blaine opened his mouth to answer back, face drawn in anger, but Janet beat him to the punch.

“Don’t be stupid, you know Frankie doesn’t fool around with anybody in the cast. Ever. Now shut your cake hole, or at least put a cock in it,” she snapped. “Then maybe I can enjoy something coming out of there for once.”

Snickers echoed from half the cast, and Rocky sank back down into his seat without another word.

Frank's scarlet lips curled into a fond smile as he closed the gap between them and slid an arm around Janet’s shoulders. “If you ever find that filter of yours, Jan, don’t you dare pick it up. Just keep walking.”

Blaine smiled softly at the exchange, warmed by it and saddened all the same. He wondered what it felt like, to have friends like that. To be defended, even when you didn’t ask.

He shot a glare at Rocky as the song played out, and stood, looking over to Janet to follow her onto the stage. Instead, he caught Frank’s lingering gaze, and realised in that moment that there was fear there, somewhere behind those placid eyes and the cool exterior he was working so hard to keep up. It was impossible to spot unless you’d seen it enough times before, but to Blaine it was unmistakable.

What was it Janet said? Frankie doesn’t fool around with anybody in the cast. Ever.

His brow creased in confusion, but all the replaying visions of his hands gliding over skin, of that perfect taste and smell of him, all of it fled from his consciousness the moment Janet’s hand was in his, and he was being dragged into a spotlight.