"You got a date with him?!" Rachel screeches when Kurt walks into the loft. She's waving her phone around as she runs toward the door, and for a moment Kurt's afraid it's going to fly out of her hand.

He grins, though, unable to help himself as he takes off his coat. The Louis Vuitton scarf is wrapped proudly around his neck, gleaming and shimmering in the light as he walks toward the kitchen. "Tomorrow night at some steak place Blaine insisted on."

Rachel squeals again, hugging Kurt tightly and bouncing up and down. "Oh my god, you have a date with an older man! A hot older man!" She stops, pulls away and lowers her voice conspiratorially. "Are you gonna, you know, go home with him? Because you know what they say..."

Kurt feels his cheeks heat and quickly ducks his head, shaking it. He laughs nervously. "No. Oh god, no. Not yet. Rachel, you know I've never...done anything like that with anyone."

"Oh, don't tell me that you haven't fantasized about your first time being with someone older, who's more experienced and who knows how to make you feel really good."

Kurt coughs awkwardly, rummaging loudly through their silverware drawer for two forks. He fishes the leftover Chinese out of the fridge and steadfastly ignores Rachel's eyes when he says, "Can't say that I have. I don't fantasize much."

"Bull." Rachel takes a fork and a container, popping the top open and taking a seat at the table. Kurt sits down across from her, opening his container of orange chicken. "We have a very distinct lack of walls in this apartment, Kurt," she says wryly. "I hear things."

Kurt feels even the tips of his ears go red as he chokes on a mouthful of rice. "Rachel!"

She just smiles and digs her fork back into her vegetarian fried rice. "We all do it, Kurt. You just need to be stealthier, like me. And quieter."

Kurt groans, but feels the indescribable happiness and fondness he gets on nights like these, when they have time to be together and just talk. "Of all the people to have as my roommate, Rachel, and I chose you."

"You love me."

"Mm, but very reluctantly."

----

"Rachel, oh my god I'm so nervous." Kurt fusses with his bowtie, his charcoal gray vest, the careful coif of his hair. He turns to the side, looking into the mirror as he runs the flat of a palm over his thigh, the curve of his ass well-outlined and well-highlighted in the tightest pair of black jeans that he owns. "What if he doesn't like it? Do the pants make me seem slutty or desperate? He has to know more about fashion than me, and, god, he probably thinks that my fashion sense is severely lacking—"

"Calm down," Rachel soothes with an amused smile. She takes Kurt's hands, squeezes, and Kurt takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax. Though his shoulders drop his stomach still tangles itself over and over into knots, and suddenly the idea of eating anything makes him want to heave. Rachel catches his attention again, looking up into his eyes. "Blaine likes you. I'm sure he'd like you even if you showed up in a garbage bag."

Kurt squeezes her hands back, exhaling his deep breath yoga-style. He hates feeling insecure again, hates not knowing what's going to happen—especially with someone like Blaine, who was wearing the most gorgeous suit Kurt's ever seen, a suit that probably costs more than Kurt's entire life so far. "Do you think?"

"I know. And you look amazing, Kurt, seriously. Your jeans don't make you look slutty, I promise."

And hearing it from Rachel's mouth, that ridiculousness, has Kurt laughing in relief. He has a tendency to overreact, and it doesn't help that it's only the second date he's ever had (though he likes to forget the first one with a coworker a month or two after they'd moved out here). He takes a look in the mirror again, bends to tuck a bit more of his pant leg into his boots. "I do look good."

"You always look good," Rachel teases, clapping her hands together. "I'm so excited for you! A date with a billionaire. We're moving up in the world!"

Kurt rolls his eyes, but over the duration of their living situation Rachel's tendency for hyperbole has become more endearing than annoying, and seeing her get so excited about everything helps Kurt overcome his jaded cynicism about the world. "This hardly counts as 'moving up,'" Kurt replies with careful air quotes. "This could be the only date we have together. He could be having a mid-life crisis for all we know and is trying to relive his past by dating the first young person that he sees." He doesn't acknowledge the way those words send a hollow, aching pang resonating in his chest.

Rachel shakes her head. "Nope, I don't believe it for a second."

Kurt opens his mouth to rebuke, refusing to get his hopes up on what is already a long shot and ridiculously perfect fantasy come to life, when his phone beeps from the couch. He rushes to get it, fingers trembling when he swipes his thumb over the screen.

To Kurt (6:47PM):
Are you ready?

To Kurt (6:47PM):
Look outside :)

Kurt looks at Rachel, perplexed, as his phone beeps again and he reads the second message. "I thought we were going to meet there."

Rachel just shrugs. "Maybe he drove."

"Someone like Blaine? I doubt it." Kurt shakes his head and walks over to one of the tall, grimy windows that face the street, and when he looks outside, he nearly drops his phone in shock. "Rachel," he hisses. "Rachel!"

Rachel rushes over to the window, looks out, and shrieks. "No way! He's picking you up in a Town Car? A more-than-likely chauffeured Town Car?" She places a hand on his shoulder solemnly. "Please keep him."

"He's not a puppy," Kurt replies, but his mouth twitches up, and renewed excitement chases away the stomach-churning anxiety. He bends to press a kiss to Rachel's cheek. "I'll be back later."

As he's grabbing his coat and wallet from his nightstand, he sees the Louis Vuitton scarf on his dresser, and it's only a moment's more hesitation before he hurriedly undoes his bowtie, deftly slides the scarf on and stuffs it between the V of his vest, and rushes out the door.

Blaine is waiting for him outside the car when Kurt runs out of his building, and he notices Blaine's composure slip for a fraction of a second as he takes in Kurt's outfit, and he smiles to himself, holding his chin up higher as he adjusts his coat to display more of the scarf.

"Hi," Kurt says breathlessly when he gets close. Blaine looks even more handsome than Kurt had remembered, and he's slightly less formal today in a burlap brown herringbone jacket, black button-down, and dark-wash jeans that hug his thighs carefully. "Wow. Um, you look...really, really handsome."

Blaine holds the back door open for Kurt graciously, smiling broad in a way that fans crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. "You look amazing," Blaine says as Kurt climbs in, sliding across buttery soft black leather. The door shuts behind him, and then Blaine is climbing into the backseat next to Kurt.

"Sorry for being maybe a little too ostentatious," Blaine says with a wince as Kurt looks around wide-eyed at the sleek interior of the car. "But I figured it'd be easier than one of us getting stuck in traffic or something."

"It's fine," Kurt says, far-off as he looks at the half-closed partition separating them from the front seat. "So you have a driver," he says casually.

"Roy and I go way back," Blaine replies. He leans forward. "Don't we, Roy?"

"Way too far back if you ask me," the man who must be Roy says in a deep, Brooklyn-accented voice. "Are we ready to go?"

Blaine looks over, and Kurt watches his smile morph into something softer, more intimate. His eyes land on the scarf, and Kurt sees the rise of his eyebrows, the curl of his lips as the smile returns. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to; Kurt knows. "Definitely ready."

----

Kurt's decided that he'd like to find the person who'd said chivalry is dead and introduce them to Blaine Anderson. When they arrive in Midtown West at a restaurant Kurt's never heard of, Blaine holds Kurt's door again, and then holds the restaurant's door open for Kurt and for an elderly couple that had been walking behind them.

"You are entirely too nice," Kurt says as Blaine checks in with their reservations. They're led to a two-seater in a back corner of the rustically-themed restaurant, and Kurt accepts the menu from the waitress.

"My mother just raised me right," Blaine says with a wink, opening his menu to the drinks section.

Kurt opens his, then blinks in surprise when every item is listed without a price next to it. "Uh, Blaine, how am I supposed to know what to order if there aren't any prices?"

"Don't worry about it." Blaine waves it off. "Get whatever you want."

"Blaine," Kurt insists.

"Nope." Blaine shakes his head with a smirk as the waitress comes back with a bread basket, setting it on the table between them. "It's all on me tonight."

Kurt huffs out a sigh but gives in, knowing that he won't get anywhere. They order drinks, and when the waitress is gone Kurt finally dregs up the courage to ask Blaine the question that's been on his mind since last night. "Okay, I have to ask—"

"How old I am?" Blaine grins easily. "I just turned forty in June."

"Forty." Kurt bites the inside of his cheek, nods his head slowly, and feels a sparking heat just below the surface of his skin that travels quickly from his chest down to his groin. "That's...a good number."

"Good as in...it's an even number and you like even numbers, or good as in...you don't mind?" Blaine bites his lip, looking hesitantly up over the edge of his menu, and Kurt's shocked at how young that makes Blaine look.

He smiles, cheeks flushing, and reads about a cocktail he's never even heard of. Blaine had ordered a dry martini on the rocks, and it's weird to be on a date with someone old enough to drink when his own Pepsi is bubbling and dripping condensation in front of him, making him feel entirely too young. "Good as in...I definitely like it."

"Oh." Blaine looks immensely pleased, eyes bright where they seek out and find Kurt's. "Well, good. I was...afraid I was overstepping boundaries, asking you out like this."

"No, no!" Kurt's quick to respond, setting down his menu. The candlelight on their table wavers and flickers in faint gold, shadows jumping and elongating, and Blaine's lips part slightly as Kurt reaches hesitantly past the bread basket, then retracts his hand. "I'm actually really glad you did. Honest."

Blaine picks up where Kurt had stopped, taking Kurt's hand in his. He lifts them up, and Kurt watches, mesmerized, as Blaine brings the back of Kurt's hand to his mouth and kisses it, a butterfly brush of slightly damp lips that make his body shudder, heart pounding and skin tingly not just where Blaine's mouth touched, but everywhere, like there's been a switch turned on for the first time.

"You're so corny," Kurt says, then giggles, and he feels like he should be mortified at the way he's acting, but he can't help it. It's like he's one of his Pepsi's bubbles, carbonated and floating up, up until he finally explodes.

"I'm just an old old-fashioned guy," Blaine retorts, winking. "So what about you? What's your story?"

Kurt clears his throat and twists his fingers together nervously. "Well, um, I'm nineteen, and I intern at vogue.com, like I mentioned before. I came here from Ohio over the summer, and I share a place with my best friend Rachel."

"I grew up in Ohio," Blaine says, looking suddenly distant. "Westerville."

"I grew up in Lima," Kurt replies, fiddling with the gleaming silverware to the right of his plate. "It's kind of eerie how close our hometowns are to each other."

Their small talk continues after the waitress comes back to take their order and Kurt relaxes more and more with each story and anecdote they tell. He finds out that Blaine had begun his company when he was twenty-nine, and within a few short years it had ballooned into something that, Blaine says humbly and a bit embarrassedly, he could have never imagined. He'd had one serious boyfriend before, had been engaged to him, but they'd ultimately broken it off after a few months. Kurt isn't sure why that thought makes him irrationally jealous.

He'd ordered the sirloin, medium rare, at Blaine's insistence, and had tried his best not to moan as his first bite all but melts in his mouth. Blaine watches with a knowing smile, and when Kurt asks timidly if he can try some of Blaine's rib-eye, Blaine holds out his fork with a piece speared on it. They don't break eye contact as Kurt bites it off and chews.

They get cheesecake for dessert, sharing a single large piece, and this time Kurt lets Blaine bite off of his fork even though Blaine has his own. Blaine won't let him see the check when it arrives, instead fishing his wallet out of his pocket and slapping down a black piece of plastic and slipping it into the little sleeve as he tips back the last of his martini. He offers one of the olives to Kurt, who takes it, wincing at the sour taste sharpened with a hint of vodka.

He reaches across the table, takes Kurt's hand again. "I didn't exactly say this earlier," he begins, "but you look absolutely breathtaking tonight, Kurt."

Kurt flushes. "You don't have to do this, you know," he says. "Taking me out, buying me dinner, buying me this scarf." He touches the silk at his neck; watches Blaine follow the movement of his fingers. "I know I'm just some kid."

Blaine shakes his head. "You're more than that. There's just something about you, Kurt. I couldn't stop thinking about you last night. Did you know that I was already home when I decided to buy you that scarf? I went back down there with barely enough time before Louis Vuitton closed and bought it without a second thought." He rubs his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand, and Kurt loses himself in the feel of the rhythmic slide, the security of another hand wrapped around his. "You're just..." He trails off, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again they're intense, dark, the candlelight casting shadows and splashes in honey irises, the salt-and-pepper stubble decorating a soft jaw and gently-lined cheeks. "I've never met anyone as beautiful as you, Kurt. I've never felt like this, not even about Jeremy. And I want to make you mine. I want to buy you things, and take you places, and make you feel special. I want to treat you like the prince you deserve to be, and I would be honored if you'd let me."

Kurt opens his mouth, but he can't find the words. He stares, speechless, at the man sitting across from him. Surely Blaine can't mean all of that. They barely even know each other. He has to have better things to spend his money on. Kurt can't just let him do all this stuff. He closes his mouth, opens it again, and tries to decline, tries to say no, I can't let you.

Instead, he says, small and nervous, "Do you really mean that?"

Blaine looks relieved that Kurt's response isn't a no, and he nods, drawing his lips into his mouth to wet them. The waitress comes, takes the check without a word. "I do," Blaine responds softly. His eyes flicker down, then up, and Kurt's lips tingle like the back of his hand had, despite not knowing what Blaine's lips would feel like on his own. "I meant every word."

"Then yes," Kurt responds immediately, feels his cheeks stretch as he smiles. "I want to get to know more about the famous Blaine Anderson, but preferably at a place where the menu has numbers."

Blaine rolls his eyes but agrees, and when they stand to leave, Blaine slips his hand into Kurt's, threading their fingers together. Kurt looks down, astonished, and he meets Blaine's eyes when he looks up. He wonders what they look like to the other patrons, finds that he doesn't really even care.

They climb back into the Town Car, and when Roy pulls away from the curb the heavy, warm weight of Blaine's hand finds Kurt's upper thigh. He bites his lip and looks out the window at the blur of neon lights as Roy and Blaine discuss the Giants game. And when there's a lull in the conversation, Blaine squeezes his thigh gently; Kurt looks over, finds Blaine staring at him, and he's shocked to find something akin to amazement on Blaine's face. He barely even realizes when they stop at his apartment, the engine humming underfoot as Roy puts the car into park.

"I had a really nice time tonight," Kurt says softly when Blaine walks him to the door. They stop just under the orange glow of an overhead light, and Blaine reaches out, touches Kurt's scarf with wondering fingertips. "Thank you."

Blaine doesn't say anything, doesn't retract his hand, and Kurt's breath hitches. "...I kind of want to kiss you." He bites his lip. "Is that okay?"

Blaine's hand moves, now, to cup Kurt's cheek, and he breathes out, "Very, very okay," as he leans in. Like time has slowed down, it seems to take forever before Kurt's eyes slide fully shut, before Blaine's warm breath ghosts over his lips, before the soft press of them is against Kurt's.

His arms go around Blaine's beck, fingers pressing into bone and toned muscle, Blaine's arms going around his waist, palm flat on his lumbar region to push him closer. It stays chaste, unmoving, until Kurt feels like his lungs will burst if he doesn't breathe soon. Then, it's over, and he's breathing in a tiny gasp as Blaine pulls back.

Blaine places a hand on his cheek, leans in to rub his nose against Kurt's, and says, "I'll call you tomorrow."

Kurt watches him walk away, leaning heavily against the cold concrete of his building as the black door slams and the car's driving off. He touches his fingers to his lips, still tingling now with the actual memory of Blaine's kiss, and wonders if it's appropriate to start swooning.

Blaine Anderson had been his first kiss, and somehow, Kurt doesn't find that a bad thing at all.