Blaine watched the black Navigator until it was out of sight. The expression on his face was unreadable, and his eyes lost the inviting warmth they held as he spoke to the slightly vulnerable boy.

Something about Kurt intrigued him. Enough to make him do something as stupid as give Kurt his phone number. He never gave out his number. Blaine was often the one receiving numbers.

It didn't help that Kurt Hummel was one of the most breath taking boys Blaine had ever seen. When the angelic voice called out on the stairwell, Blaine was momentarily stunned. And then when he saw the boy, his mind went numb. Luckily, the boy stuttered out a lie about being a new student, which allowed Blaine's bran regain function.

Being the only son of one of the most prominent families in Westerville, and because his father was on the board of directors, it was rare for a student to transfer to Dalton without Blaine hearing about it. Even if he hadn't caught the lie, it would have been easy to guess something suspicious was happening. Kurt looked as though he wanted to turn tail and run out the door as quickly as possible.

Despite the little white lie, and possibly because of it, Blaine was intrigued. And turned on. A long time had passed since Blaine had anyone that innocent. Until he laid his eyes on Kurt, it wasn't something he believed he would ever want again. When he took the younger boys soft, delicate hand, Blaine wanted to run up to his dorm and fuck the boy until neither of them could stand.

"That'll kill you, you know," he said to David as his two friends walked up behind him. His eyes never left the now empty road.

"With you for a best friend, I won't make it to thirty. Might as well enjoy my life as much as possible," David said. He leaned against the wall next to Blaine, still smoking the cigarette.

"Everything okay?" the dark skinned boy asked.

"Never better," Blaine replied still lost to images of his body intwined with Kurt's pale skin.

"Good. What's the plan?" Wes asked.

"The plan?" Blaine asked. The images faded as he returned to reality.

"For tonight. Jesus, Blaine, where's your head?" It wasn't quite a scolding

Blaine shook his head and finally turned away from the road. "There's an abandoned parking garage about two miles away. I'll text you the address in an hour." He turned to David, snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it into the ground. "I intend to live well past thirty, so smoke on your own time." The curly haired Warbler then strode back into the building.

He had to clear his head. Nothing could distract him from his goal tonight. Blaine made his way to the weight room. Boxing would not only help him clear his head of thoughts about Kurt, but also help him warm up for later tonight.

Daltons strict and very much enforced anti-harassment and no bullying policies didn't stop issues from arising between students. The student's just found a different, often more violent way of dealing with those issues.

A school filled with boys ranging from rich to extremely wealthy meant there was a lot of cash floating around the school. Cash that funded a thriving underground world within the school. Blaine Anderson ran that underground world with an iron fist.

Part of what he told Kurt was true, about bullies and the faculty. Blaine's father wanted him to "experience the real world" before he reached college. It didn't quite turn out the way either of them planned. When Blaine's father ran father ran for Senate, Blaine was outed.

He was unprepared for the backlash from the other students at the school though. Before then he was already at odds with the others because of who his father was and the money he had access to. The part he left out was the aftermath of the confrontations between him and a few of the students, or in Kurt's words "Neanderthals". Blaine ended up at Dalton halfway through his freshman year after nearly killing one of them at a dance. One of the boys decided to jump him after the dance.

It was lucky the boy's father owed the Anderson's quite a bit of money at the time. Blaine's father was able to cut a deal; Blaine would leave the school and the debt would be forgiven if the boy's father wouldn't press charges. The boy's father agreed. Blaine's father, Michael Anderson, still hadn't forgiven him for that loss of money.

He discovered something that day. Blaine really liked the adrenaline rush he got after the fight. Once he transferred to Dalton, with a reputation he played up, Blaine got in touch with the right people in the school and formed a fight club. Many of the students participated. It was a way for them to work out differences. In two and a half years, Blaine had yet to lose a fight. He didn't plan on losing one any time soon either.

After an hour of repetitively hitting the punching back, Blaine had sufficiently pushed all thoughts of the vulnerable boy from his mind. Satisfied, he removed the gloves and headed to his room for a shower.

"I heard a rumor about you," his roommate Jeff Sterling said once he emerged from the bathroom.

"What kind of rumor?" He glanced at the blond boy, who was working on his homework, for just a moment.

"That you were 'nice' to the kid that was spying on us."

"Kurt."

"What?"

"The kid. His name is Kurt," Blaine corrected his roommate.

"Oh God. You were nice to him!" A large smiled graced his lips, "Don't tell me you have a crush on him after, what, an hour?" Jeff giggled happily.

Jeff was unlike anyone else in Blaine's exclusive group. His family didn't come from old money. The blonde's father was a junior partner under Blaine's father, but due to his ruthlessness he quickly became one of the leading attorneys at the firm.

As a result, Jeff's perspective on people, and his behavior was vastly different. Usually Blaine found it refreshing. In that moment, it was just irritating.

"No, and if you mention something about it again, I'll kick your ass," Blaine growled at him.

He didn't have a crush; he just wanted to hear Kurt screaming his name as he fucked him. Blaine definitely didn't want to know more about him. Not at all.

"Whatever you say, Blainers."

Blaine growled at the nickname. "Drop it," he commanded. "Let's go before we're late."

"It's only like, eight o'clock."

"We're having a meeting before hand."

"Are we discussing how to put the freshmen back into their places? I've heard that one, what's his name?"

One of the freshmen had gotten it into his head that because Blaine was short it would be easy to beat him. Blaine couldn't wait to teach him a lesson.

"Sebastian," he supplied as they walked through the deserted halls. Classes were well over, as was dinner. It was still a couple of hours till lights out. But most students were already in their dorms. It was only Blaine's elite group of friends that were out past nine. Except for during fights.

"Yeah, Sebastian. He's been talking a lot of shit about you the last few days."

"His conceited. I've never seen him fight before, but if he's good, the kid's too confident. It'll be an easy fight."

"After he gets the invite, he's going to challenge you."

"I know that. He'll be the first person in a long time. Too long of a time."

"He's stupid for doing this."

"Does it matter? I need to fight, Jeff. I've been itching for it. I'm only inviting the Sebastian because he wants me to either fuck him or fight him."

"Why don't you fuck him then?" Jeff wasn't a fighter, he'd never actually fought anyone, but he took care of Blaine and the others. And stopped things if they got too out of hand during the fights.

"Because I want to hit someone."

They walked through the double doors that led to what used to be the choir room, until Blaine had the director fired. The council, appointed by Blaine via his father, solely directed the Warblers, with much influence from Blaine. The two boys were meeting the rest of their group there before sneaking off the school grounds.

"You could do both," Wes said adding his opinion to the conversation.

"I'd rather not. He's not really my…type."

Something about Sebastian made Blaine's skin crawl.

"Then what is?" Jeff asked.

"He doesn't have a type. If it'll let him fuck it, Blaine likes them," Nick Ducal, another member of the Warblers said. Since having the choir director fired, Blaine, Wes, and David had made the Warblers exclusive to their crowd. If you wanted in, you had to be part of the group. Blaine had to like someone for them to make it in the group. Blaine didn't like people very often.

"Kurt," David said knowingly.

"Next person that mentions him gets their ass kicked tonight. Period." Blaine eyed the boys in the room harshly, daring them to say something else about the boy. Blaine wanted him and the distracting thoughts he brought along out of his head before the fight. Being distracted was almost as bad as being over confident.

When he was sure no one else would say anything on the subject, Blaine decided it would be a good time to start the meeting. "Now, Warblers…" he started.

Before he could get another word out, his phone went off loudly in the quiet room. A frustrated growl escaped his lips. He really hated being interrupted. Pulling out his phone, Blaine saw he had a message from a number he didn't recognize.

(8:30 PM)

From: 860-453-8825

Hey Blaine, this is Kurt. I just wanted to thank you for today. Not only for being so nice about the spying thing, but for talking with me. You really helped. Anyway, this is my number. Feel free to text me. And thank you, again.

Instantly, Blaine forgot all of his frustration, and thought back to Kurt's tear stained face that afternoon. It seemed like it was more than just a few short hours ago. Quickly Blaine saved the number to his phone.

(8:33)

To: Kurt

It's not a problem. It was really great to meet you Kurt. And we'd never beat you up. Like David said, it was endearing. And you were adorable standing there so nervously.

"Who's texting you Blaine?"

Without thinking he said Kurt, and all the boys immediately started talking at once. He distinctly heard the beginnings to a song he didn't care to hear at the moment.

"So you do like him!" Jeff exclaimed loudly. After ten minutes of trying to settle them down again, Blaine gave up.

"Deliver the letters and meet me at the usual spot at midnight. You're late, you get left," he shouted over the noise in the room.

The singer stomped out of the room, grabbing one of the letters off the table. A parchment envelop with gold writing bearing the name "Sebastian Smythe" across it. Expensive paper for most people, Blaine hardly noticed the cost.

He wanted to hand deliver the invitation. After tonight, no one would question Blaine's authority at the school, not even an ignorant, horny freshman.