His nerves had fled the moment the first few lines slipped from his tongue, so much easier than he’d ever imagined. Even the deliberate jeering callbacks from the crowd and the side-cast couldn’t hold back the sound that burst out of him, singing and running around the stage like he’d done it a hundred times before. The road was long, but I ran it.

Somehow, under those lights and he towering backdrop of the cinema screen, he was sixteen again.

After the first two missed cues and another forgotten line, what was left of his fear gave way to laughter and the need to carry on. Janet kept him in time, kept his feet on the ground and guided him flawlessly through until the moment the Time Warp faded out – and then there was nothing but Frank.

Blaine’s mouth went dry the moment he stepped out. It wasn’t just the costume; of course he’d seen it up close and personal before. It wasn’t just the confidence and the stage presence, or the way his vocal register dropped smoothly into Sweet Transvestite. It was all of it, right down to the roll of those hips, tugging mercilessly on the tight garter straps that framed his pale, muscular thighs. Blaine couldn’t understand how he could move like that without dislocating something.

He was grateful, all at once, for his impromptu side-curtain blowjob before the show, else he’d have come in his pants by now.

By the time he’d been stripped down to his underwear, he was already having too much fun to care about being exposed. The round of wolf-whistles would have left him bright red and blushing to his toes if it wasn't for the look on Frank’s face. It only lasted a moment, just a flash, dark in those stunning eyes – but Blaine caught it: the sweeping gaze that raked over his exposed chest, and down his naked legs. An ache began to pool in his hips, and in retrospect, maybe that one blowjob wasn’t enough after all.

He didn’t know how he made it through the bedroom scene alive, with Frank hovering over him, pressing kisses down his chest. A wet, pink tongue flicked over his nipple and Blaine jerked on the table that was set up as the ‘bed’. The crowd didn’t matter anymore, their screams and their callbacks, because Frank was on top of him, Frank’s mouth was on his skin. He’d dropped a line or two before, but now his mind was blank, and he sent up a silent thank you to Barry Bostwick for existing and keeping the dialogue running in any capacity.

By the end of the show, his body was thrumming with a delicious mixture of adrenaline and arousal. Half of him wanted to run laps around the building. The other half wanted to pin Frank to the wall and undo that stupid corset with his teeth.

The moment it ended, they rushed back, pouring down the stairs to the side stage and skip-stepping over toast and confetti and streamers. He burst through the velvet curtain flanked by fellow cast-members, laughing and stumbling. The girls had clapped him on the back, punched his arm, hugged him and welcomed him officially. Way to bust your cherry, Brad. Congrats. First night is over! You’re in it, now.

He nodded along, but he wasn’t paying that much attention. His eyes scanned the room for Frank.

The open space was packed thicker than he was used to, the Transylvanians swarming backstage and laughing loudly in groups with the floor cast. Frank was nowhere to be found amidst the sequinned sea of bodies, but Blaine kept searching, pushing past friends and smiling politely whenever anybody congratulated him.

It was only the need to find space to breathe that led him to the back corner of the room by the fire exit, and there was Frank, shoulders hunched defensively as Rocky smirked at him and mouthed something Blaine couldn’t make out. A sharp flare of anger rose in his chest at the defiant look on Frank’s face, and Blaine pushed past the group of girls blocking his path, apologising quietly as he moved.

By the time he’d slipped past the first group, Rocky had already slinked off with that same sick grin on his lips, and Blaine shuddered. He glanced back over to Frank, barely able to see the outline of his dark, spiked hair past the crowd, and someone else’s – a white hat on teased curls. Magenta. Pressing back against the wall, he edged closer, and caught the faint sound of their voices.

“- not an idiot, Frankie. You can fool him, but not me. I know.”

“It’s not like that.” Frank’s voice was different somehow, higher than Blaine had heard it before, and he sounded exhausted.

“I know, babe.” Magenta’s voice again, this time without her usual sultry lilt. “I know it’s not like that, or else you wouldn’t let it happen. I know you, remember?”

What the hell did that mean?

“It’s nothing,” Frank’s voice was softer now, sounding almost resigned. There was a long pause, a huff of laughter, and a strange noise that could easily have been an exasperated sigh. “God, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you do,” Madge said fondly.

“It’s nothing,” Frank said again, this time more confidently, as if he were trying to convince himself. “The boys that come through here, all of them, they all want this. They want Frank. I learned that a long time ago, I don’t know why I doubted it now.”

Blaine’s brow furrowed in confusion and frustration. What the hell did Rocky say to him?

Frank had to know how incredible he was, how amazing he looked, Blaine reasoned with himself. He had to know how magnetic he could be, to get away with half the moves he pulled on that stage with so much confidence. But then assholes like Rocky came along, and twisted it into something ugly, something creepy and lascivious.

Blaine wanted to sink his boot right in the middle of that stupid, sick little smile.

By the time he realised he’d been caught up in his own head, their voices had stopped. When looked up again, they’d vanished into the now dissipating crowd of the cast, filing out the heavy exit doors, a few lingering around to help clean.

He cursed himself quietly, searching the stragglers for any sign of Frank before he went to gather his bag. He’d wanted to say something. Do something.

More than anything right now, with the last spits of adrenaline and lust burning under his skin, he wanted to feel Frank beneath his fingers one more time before the night was over. He wanted to say thank you, and that was amazing, and you were right. But it was too late now. He had seven days to wait.

Seven days that soon became the worst kind of eternity.

The only saving grace came from his Monday morning trip to the caf�, and that moment he waited all week for. Kurt breezed in with his usual elegance, this time in stunning white and silver, with grey pants and a gunmetal jacket, hair perfectly swept up into a flawless swirl of light brown. Blaine sipped his coffee, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he watched Kurt find his seat and fold his legs smoothly, pushing his glasses up his nose while he flicked over a magazine.

Every tiny movement, every gesture and tilt of his head, shift of his shoulders, was just like it had always been. Perfect.

Blaine sighed, eyes drooping sleepily over the warm steam rising up against his face. Even the back of Kurt was beautiful. He should know, he’d seen it often enough. One day, he hoped, Kurt would face the other way, sit in the opposite chair, and he’d be able to see his face properly again, memorize the lines of his nose and his cheekbones for more than a split second in passing.

It didn’t matter, for now. He was just grateful for Monday mornings.

The rest of the week felt like a slow march to a funeral dirge. Every part of the office was duller, now, contrasting with the flashes of spotlights and glitter in his mind. He waited, as patiently as he could manage, for Friday to find him again.

When it finally did, he found himself at the theatre early, already in costume and helping the ushers set up.

“Well somebody’s enthusiastic.” Riff had laughed, and given him a supportive clap on the shoulder in passing.

Most of the rest of the cast had rolled their eyes, or smiled at him as they went by. He wondered why he felt a strange discomfort in his stomach every time the theatre doors swung open and someone new walked through.

No, he knew why. Because the person walking through those doors was never Frank.

He tracked Janet down at the first opportunity; wanting to cover the cues he’d missed the week before. She obliged with a laugh, pointing out the small things to listen for and look for, to help stay on time.

“You’re an eager bunny today, Brads, got someone special in the audience tonight?” Madge asked from her seat at the table while she watched them rehearse.

Blaine glanced at her quickly, resuming his practice as he spoke. “Oh! No, just. Want to get it right.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Janet asked suddenly. “Because we’re going to want to meet him. And flirt with him. And then get you two drunk enough to have sex in front of us.”

Already adapting to her lack of filter, Blaine watched her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“While we video-tape it,” she added at last.

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “No... boyfriend.”

“Oh, wait,” Janet ducked her head down, peering at his face. “But there is somebody?”

Blaine couldn’t help the flush that swept from his neck to the roots of his hair.

“There is!” Janet declared, playing scandalised. She nudged his stomach playfully with her knuckles. “Who is it? Lover? Fling? Crush?” and then, at the tiny flash of admission in his eyes, “Ooohhhh, look at you, you have a crush!”

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“Someone from the show?” Madge asked quickly, her voice low and a little dangerous.

“No, no,” Blaine waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. He’s just this guy I … sort of work with, at my office. But not really. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Janet accused. “It’s something! Look at your face, you have it bad for this guy!”

“Janet,” Madge warned quietly.

“You do!” she squealed in delight. “What’s he like? Is he gorgeous, I bet he’s gorgeous.”

“He is,” Blaine breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s … perfect. But he doesn’t even know-”

“Frank! I need you over here, sugar!” Trixie’s voice called from the other side of the room, and Blaine turned and froze.

Frank was right there, just a few feet away from him, tucked against Madge’s side and staring. Blaine just barely managed to catch the numb, empty look on his face before it flickered and vanished beneath a painted scarlet smile.

“Coming, Trix!” Frank called, and leaned over to Madge. “Can you do me a favor?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling.

“The drugstore on the corner. Vicious red?” he asked softly.

With her shark grin pulling at her lips, she nodded again, rising from her seat.

“Be right there!” Frank called to Trixie as he slid past, squeezing Madge’s hand before he let it go.

Blaine’s heart stuttered in his chest as he tried to remember exactly what he’d said, but all of that blinked out of his consciousness the moment he found himself watching Frank walk away. He couldn’t keep his eyes from dropping down to the lines of his hips, the curve of his ass in those satin and lace panties, stretching across the muscle tightly with each stride.

He let out a shuddering breath, mouth open and shaking around words he couldn’t find.

“You and me both, babe,” Janet teased with a dirty grin. “You and me both.”

Blaine blushed again, laughing and letting her scoop both arms around his waist in a hug. It was odd, being held in such a familiar way by a near stranger, but it felt good at the same time.

His newfound comfort went out the window soon enough – by the time the show was starting, Blaine was trembling all over.

It wasn't because he was nervous, his nerves had dissipated after that first night. No, this time he was trembling because he was actually hard, and aching in his pants by the time Sweet Transvestite finished. Frank slinked over to him, almost purring aloud.

It felt like every little move, every stretch and slide was exaggerated, was aimed at him. Every time Frank sat, those legs would spread wide and perch delicately, exposing the soft, smooth skin on the insides of this thighs. Blaine wanted to moan and press his mouth along the straps of those garters so badly he could almost taste the lace.

When Frank pulled the costume glasses from Blaine’s face and slid the end of an earpiece into his mouth, sucking around it softly and sliding it over his bottom lip, Blaine couldn’t stop himself from whimpering.

He had to be doing this on purpose.

Blaine forced his eyes shut, trying to slow down his breathing, trying to adjust his raging hard-on before he wound up stripped down to his underwear.

No, why would he do it on purpose? Blaine decided he was just imagining it. It was just Frank being Frank, doing his job, but that notion went out the window fairly quickly once he was almost-naked and Frank actually slid his fingers inside the band of Blaine’s tighty whities. “And what charming underclothes you both have.”

The brush of Frank’s knuckles on the soft skin above his groin made Blaine’s eyes roll back, and he shuddered. Breathe, he told himself. Oh god. Just breathe. Keep going.

By the bedroom scene he was panting, writhing under Frank’s exploring mouth and trying not to scream. The slip of wet lips over his skin was different this time, slick like it wasn’t before, and intoxicating on top of the rest of Frank’s teasing game that night. His hips jerked out of his control, meeting Frank’s body once, twice and again before a firm hand pressed him down against the table, and the scene played on.

Once he was offstage again, aching and breathless and desperate for relief, Blaine decided that Frank was actually trying to kill him.

The show closed to roars from the audience and a fountain of leftover toast and streamers, and they staggered backstage as always, most of them laughing on the way and peeling themselves out of costumes.

Blaine walked stiffly behind, wincing at the ridiculously uncomfortable situation in his pants and trying to be as invisible as possible.

“Have fun tonight?” Madge asked with a smirk as he passed her.

He opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. He started at her in a wide-eyed silent plea to let this go.

She tipped her head in sympathy, eyes flicking down to his crotch, and then lingering over his chest. “Wow, he did you good.”

Blaine gulped, shaking slightly and hunched over, dying to escape to a bathroom and take care of things. Preferably with Frank.

But Frank was, once again, nowhere to be found in the aftermath of the evening. Exhausted and desperate, Blaine pushed past the remaining cast members and found the backstage bathroom, slipping into a cubicle and flicking the lock with one hand.

He moaned, long and loud, the moment his fist wrapped around his aching cock and he was able to pump up and down in shaky movements. The familiarity didn’t matter right now, his hand had never felt so good, and in minutes he was coming in thick stripes over his fist, letting out a choked noise and rocking back against the cubicle wall.

Wiping himself down with toilet tissue, he flushed it away and pressed through the cubicle door to find a sink and clean up properly. He was two strides across the room when he caught sight of himself in a mirror and stopped dead.

Across his bare chest, in tiny open-mouth marks, were endless outlines of red lipstick.

His eyes narrowed tightly, and his jaw dropped as he stood there and stared. How… what?

The bathroom door swung open and Frank strode through, stopping still when he saw Blaine. His mouth curled into a smirk, and he moved over to the sink, eyes falling to watch as he washed glitter from his hands.

“Last week there wasn’t… you didn’t leave any…” Blaine had no idea what he was actually saying or trying to say, his brain still struggling to process what he was looking at.

“That was last week,” Frank said simply.

Blaine swallowed hard, eyes flicking back and forth. “Vicious red…” he repeated, remembering what Frank had asked Madge earlier.

“Stains skin for awhile,” Frank offered. “Might want to wear an undershirt to work.”

“You-” Blaine’s voice cut off as Frank turned on him, pressing in close unexpectedly.

“Think of it as a visual cue,” Frank said silkily.

Blaine’s breath punched out of him in tiny, silent bursts as Frank slid one finger up his stomach and over his breastbone. Those bright blue eyes bore in to him for a long, lingering moment before they trailed down. Frank suddenly grinned to himself, collecting Blaine’s wrist and lifting his hand.

There was still a stripe of come across the back of two fingers, and Blaine swallowed audibly, eyes fluttering in panic as he tried to think of any words to explain.

Then Frank slid his mouth over both fingers, swirling his tongue around them slowly, and Blaine’s entire brain short circuited.

It felt like an explosion of deafening silence in his blood, like every nerve in his body was on fire as Frank sucked down the length of his fingers and looked up at him almost innocently at the same time from under long, black lashes.

Blaine moaned, watching helplessly as Frank pulled back and sucked down again, pressing his tongue gently against the pad of each finger and slipping his mouth off wetly with an obscene slurp.

“What – what was. What was that for?” Blaine managed to pant out as Frank licked his lips and turned for the door.

He disappeared with a rush of cool air, his voice just loud enough to echo through the empty bathroom.

“You missed a spot.”