“Two non-fat caramel mochas and a hot chocolate with non-fat whip…”

Step.

“One flat white and a shot of espresso…”

Step.

“One decaf black and an almond biscotti…”

Step.

“One double decaf and a hazelnut steamed milk…”

Step.

Standing in line, waiting to buy his morning cup of coffee, Blaine pretends to read over his notes for the musical theater master class he's teaching in a little over an hour.

“A chocolate chip mocha soy latte with non-fat, non-dairy whip, and a sprinkle of nutmeg. Whoo! That's a new one…”

Step.

Blaine can't help smiling as he advances in the line, directed to the counter by the man slinging drinks, calling out orders as he fills them, often times with quirky comments or compliments for his customers.

“One chai green tea, and a bagel with smoked Gouda and tomato spread. Where did you get that scarf? It is absolutely adorable…”

Step.

It's that voice – silvery, unique, and simply steeped with joy, a genuine lust for life - that first drew Blaine in here over six months ago, when he got lost on his way to a last minute optometrist's appointment (the first one he'd had in years) with a brand new doctor in his provider network, and ended up in the doorway of The Hot Shot, looking for directions to the subway. The place was just as busy back then as it is now. Somehow, this quaint neighborhood coffee shop managed to win over customers from the competition of five Starbucks in the area, and Blaine's sure it's partially because of its handsome and charismatic owner, Kurt Hummel, who also doubles as the morning barista.

Except that on that first morning Blaine dropped in, the man in question was singing Broadway karaoke, the song Rose's Turn, with one of his employees. He really knew how to sell it, too – so much so that Blaine became curious if Kurt had some musical theater in his background. (To date, Blaine hasn't gotten around to asking.) Kurt even persuaded the barista he was singing with to do a Rockettes style kick line towards the very end. Apparently, Kurt had lost a game of Celebrity Trivia that the employees had been playing with the customers, a game they played with Truth or Dare-type stakes. From what Blaine had heard later on, Kurt losing didn't happen very often. Several employees suspected that Kurt had actually thrown the game so that his shyest employee, who had also lost, would not have to suffer alone.

Whatever the circumstances, Blaine was definitely happy that Kurt wound up performing on the one day he ended up lost and wandering by.

“Three mocha lattes and…uh…a spicy flat white...”

Step.

Blaine's cheeks start to pink when the tone in Kurt's voice changes, a stutter entering the flow of his words, and Blaine knows that Kurt's spotted him in line.

Blaine pulls out a pen and starts making bullshit notes, wanting to look busy, needing to look unaffected, but most importantly, look like he's not fawning silently over the man filling coffee orders.

Which Blaine absolutely is.

“A black tea with cream and a banana nut muffin. Huzzah! You got our last one! May fortune shine its light upon you…”

Step.

Blaine looks up when he sees the lip of the counter appear over the page he hasn't been reading, eyes plowing through a blur of words that bleed into nonsense, and meeting up with a warm, smiling face.

“A medium drip for you, Blaine,” Kurt says, sliding Blaine his cup.

“You know, I can't believe that with all the people you see every day, you've got my order memorized,” Blaine says, juggling his pen, his books, and his notes to find his money. He makes it a point not to be ready when he gets to the counter. It gives him an excuse to talk to Kurt – just a few extra minutes to spend.

“Yeah, well, I only memorize the orders of my cute regulars.”

“And how many of those do you have?” Blaine asks, sliding his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Currently, just one,” Kurt says, blue eyes sparkling above his flirty smile.

“Hey!” an elderly woman with lavender hair, standing behind Blaine in line, gripes. She folds her arms crossly over her chest, the sleeves of her cherry-print raincoat complaining almost as loudly as she did, and Blaine snickers.

“Sorry, Mrs. Filch, but you fall under the category of adorable.” Kurt laughs, and the woman gives him a wink. “I'll have your caramel macchiato up in a second.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Filch says, appropriately appeased.

“So, I'm cute, but not adorable?” Blaine teases.

“Well, you know, you have to work your way up,” Kurt says. “I mean, look at Mrs. Filch.” Kurt motions to the woman, beaming at all the attention. “Now, you have to admit, she's pretty hard to compete with right there.”

“And how do I?” Blaine asks. “Compete, I mean.”

“Uh...” Kurt chuckles nervously, getting Blaine his change before Blaine even hands him his money – change for a five, which is what Blaine always gives him. Blaine makes it a point to pay with cash since it takes just that little bit longer to ring up.

Again, more time to spend with Kurt.

“I don't know,” Kurt says. “Maybe one day you'll break down and take me up on my offer for dinner.”

Blaine trades his five dollar bill for Kurt's change, their fingertips brushing slightly over the exchange.

“Maybe I will,” Blaine says with a coy half-smile.

Blaine's been saying the same thing for the past five months, two weeks, and three days. And as much as Kurt hopes every day that Blaine will say yes, he's not holding his breath.

As Blaine pockets his change and heads out of The Hot Shot with his coffee, Kurt's voice following him out, “Yes, Mrs. Filch, he does seem like a very nice man…and handsome…” Blaine wishes he could say yes.

***

At first, going to The Hot Shot to see Kurt was an indulgence.

Conceivably, Blaine could hit the Starbucks right down the street from his apartment, or the seven he passes on his way to NYADA, but it's nice to see Kurt every morning, to hear his voice, to talk to him.

It's the best part of Blaine's day.

It smooths out the torn, jagged edges of dealing with self-important students and conceited, holier-than-thou I used to play Hamlet of Broadway type teachers.

Blaine and Kurt had moved on from the casual conversation stage to the more flirtatious stage, with Kurt dropping hints now and then about movies playing that he heard were interesting, or musicals he wanted to go see that he just so happened to have an extra ticket to. Blaine had always been naïve when it came to flirting, but he caught on to Kurt fairly quick.

Blaine had been on a dating hiatus after his last long term relationship ended due to irreconcilable differences, which was Blaine's brief, vague way of saying that his ex-boyfriend manipulated him, emotionally abused him, cheated on him, and then, when Blaine broke up with him, stalked him and threatened him. Blaine took out a restraining order, and his ex retaliated by breaking into Blaine's apartment and pushing him down a flight of stairs.

But that was over two years ago.

Blaine could maybe consider starting a relationship with Kurt, who was handsome, intelligent, kind to everyone he met, patient to a fault, and seemed to be really into him. But relationships are messy, and Blaine had had too much messy in life in general.

Messy nearly derailed his career, which was part of the reason why he spent more time teaching than performing. Why he hadn't been in the studio to try his hand at cutting a first album in more than a year.

No. Blaine wanted neat, convenient, and, on those nights when he really needed something more than the memory of witty banter and flirty winks, battery operated.

Blaine wasn't adverse to using toys in place of a warm body and actual human contact. He sure as hell had enough of them. But recently, he was getting tired of the same old, same old – vibrators, plugs, beads, wands, fleshjacks. They had stopped giving him what he needed a while ago, become a means to an end. Blaine needed to be filled and fulfilled, in a way that kept his hands free to roam and caress. He had vibrating eggs with wireless remote controls, but that didn't even come close to what he wanted. He didn't want vibration, he wanted thrust. And he didn't want control; he wanted to hand control over to someone else – a difficult thing to do when you're alone. But there had to be something, some solution to his problem. This was the digital age, after all. If they can invent a sex toy someone can use with their significant other long distance, then science should be able to come up with something that would…well…that would fuck him, right?

Insanely curious, Blaine starts Googling sex toys during his commute to NYADA, sitting in the far corner by the wall, sipping his coffee, and keeping his phone screen tilted away from the windows so no one else will see. Blaine's actually surprised how fast he finds what he's looking for. Why he didn't think to do a search for this a while ago is beyond him. But the minute he sees it, he knows it's what he wants, and before he even leaves the subway train, he's already ordered his new toy.

By the time he's done with his masters class, he already has a tracking number and a shipping confirmation waiting in his email.

In the morning, Blaine practically skips to The Hot Shot for his medium drip.

“Well, don't you look chipper today? Any exciting new developments in your life since I last saw you twenty-four hours ago?” Kurt asks, his teasing tone not as light, his smile pulling at the corners a hair.

“Yes,” Blaine says with a laugh to himself. He notices Kurt's normally effervescent smile go a little flat, and he jumps in to revive it. “Uh, I bought myself a present…uh…something I've wanted for a while, and I'm just excited. It should be arriving soon. Today, possibly.”

It doesn't hit Blaine until the words leave his mouth the dangers of revealing that information. But they're just sharing idle chitchat while he buys his coffee. What are the odds Kurt's going to ask?

“Ooo, really?” Kurt says, his relief subtly obvious. “A present? That sounds like fun.”

“It…uh…should be,” Blaine says with a heavy swallow, his throat constricting at the thought of said toy, and how much he's dying to play with it.

“Well, don't keep me in suspense,” Kurt says. “What is it, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Oh” – Blaine's eyes widen with a low-level panic. He didn't consciously plan on mentioning his acquisition to anyone, so he hadn't prepared a cover story on the off chance anyone pressed him for details, and for as good an actor as he is on stage, he's a terrible liar – “it's just…uh…a kinda…electronic gadget…to play with at home. You know…” Blaine clears his throat – “for when I get bored.”

“Groovy,” Kurt says, as if Blaine's ambiguous explanation actually told him anything. “I'm afraid I'm not all that plugged in.” Kurt slides Blaine his coffee cup. “I'm a simple guy. Still get my Vogue and OUT delivered to my apartment. I have a Kindle, but I barely use it. I just enjoy holding the magazine in my hands, you know? Feeling the paper between my fingers, smelling all the perfume samples.”

“Well, nothing beats cracking the spine of a brand new magazine,” Blaine agrees, fishing for his wallet. “I still prefer to do it that way. And you're right. They don't include the perfume samples with the online subscription. It's criminal.”

Kurt laughs at Blaine's joke, grabbing his change out of the register.

“Don't get me wrong,” Kurt says. “I'm not living in the Dark Ages. I've got my cell phone and my computer.”

“Does it have a giant key in the back you have to wind?” Blaine jokes. “Or does it run on hamster power.”

“Hamsters,” Kurt says with a bobbing nod. “But, I'm on Facebook and Twitter, I have email. I…uh…even put the address on my website.”

Blaine's eyes flick up from his wallet, hand pulling the five from his billfold. “You have a website?”

“Yeah. It's kinda new,” Kurt admits, eyes drifting down to the counter, his finger worrying a spot on the concrete countertop. “You know, in case customers want to contact me about concerns, ideas, things they want to see on the menu, compliments, questions, color schemes” – Kurt shrugs – “that sort of thing.”

“I think that's very smart of you as a business owner,” Blaine says, pocketing his change and picking up his coffee, “availing yourself to your customers that way.”

“That's what I'm hoping,” Kurt says, giving Blaine a parting wink.

 ***

Thanks to the wonders of expedited shipping, Blaine's purchase – packaged discretely in two plain, brown, rectangular cardboard boxes, with no identifying names or marks whatsoever - are waiting for him outside the door to his apartment by the time he gets home in the evening.

It's called The Fuck Machine – about as crude a name as anyone could come up with, but also as to the point as one can get. Blaine saw it on the Fort Troff website, and his eyes immediately lit up. So did his cheeks because damn! The adult actor demonstrating the machine in the tiny clip the site provided was all kinds of smokin' hot (Blaine has a thing for the football player/muscle-y jock type). The actor seemed to be enjoying himself, even though the online summary used words that Blaine didn't want to associate with a masturbation aid, like torque and poundage. He was both terrified and completely turned on. But that four-and-a-half minute video (which Blaine watched eight times on the train to and from NYADA, and then an additional twelve times at home, long after he'd made his purchase) were all the testimonial Blaine needed. And a steal at just $329. So why not? Next to his Prius, this machine could very well turn out to be the best investment he's ever made. He didn't know how in the world he got so lucky.

A ridiculous paranoia that his neighbors not only know what's in the boxes, but are also watching him through their peep holes, causes him to fumble with his keys. He picks up the boxes as casually as possible, trembling with nerves and anticipation. He turns his key in the lock, clumsily pushes open the door, and trips over his threshold. He recovers before he falls, and squirrels the boxes inside, then he locks and bolts the door behind him. He puts the boxes on the kitchen table, and without taking off his coat or dropping his messenger bag, he grabs a pair of scissors from the counter and slices through the brown packing tape on the larger of the two. He pulls open the flaps and sees a mass of Styrofoam, filling the box completely. This time, he has to put down his bag. He sets the box down on the floor, slides his fingers between the box and the Styrofoam, and slowly pulls it out. It doesn't come out easily, slipping out in stages, a few inches at a time, but by the time it springs free, Blaine is absolutely panting to try out his new toy.

Blaine hatches the machine from its carefully packaged cocoon. As advertised, it only weighs five pounds – basically a miniature motor in a hard, plastic casing. It comes with a packing slip, but no real instructions. Blaine looks over the box twice, turning it upside down and shaking it, but nope. Nothing in there. That doesn't really matter. The website made it look simple to operate.

Of course, it also looks like something a mechanic would use to jack up a car, or that a contractor might buy to drill a hole in drywall.

Along with the device itself, Blaine spent an additional small fortune on dildos for the machine (which were sold separately), hence the second box. An enthusiastic (and horny) Blaine bought almost every dildo imaginable – several realistic versions in varying sizes, from something resembling his own size, all the way up to one that looks like it might end up reaching the fillings in his molars from the inside. There were also an interesting variety of sci-fi themed dildos, some perfectly smooth, some curved, some with odd bumps and ridges manufactured into their design, so intriguing that Blaine felt it was worth the money to try them out.

To top it all off, he bought a humongous jug of something the site recommended called Cum Lube.

The name, like Fuck Machine, pretty much speaks for itself.

Blaine opens the second box and unpacks dildo after dildo until he finds the one he wants. He attaches the average him sized dildo to the machine, then steps back to take a look. He frowns. Overall, it looks like an amateur knock-off of a Jonathan Payne sculpture. It might be uncomfortable. Or painful. But it has a remote control, and numerous settings. The website said that the controls weren't overly sensitive, so, no fear of sneezing and accidentally launching his naked ass into the stratosphere.

There's only one thing left to do, and that's take it into his bedroom and give it a trial run.

Blaine picks it up - adjusting the angle on the piston arm since he had it pointing straight up with the dildo smacking him in the face - plus the industrial size bottle of Cum Lube, and carries them into his room. He sets it down on a clear patch of floor, in front of his full length mirror so he can get a good view of the action. He undresses, yanking at buttons and zippers in his haste to have them open, almost popping a few off in the process. He opens his bottle of lube and pours out a handful – a handful that glops out before Blaine can pull the bottle upright and covers his entire hand, with some to spare.

The Cum Lube is white, it's thick…it lives up to its name.

Blaine slicks up the dildo, then himself for the heck of it, the proximity of his fingers to his hole enticing him to finger himself first, scissor himself open, help him relax and get himself ready for his machine. He didn't realize how tense he was, how anxious, until he sticks a second finger in and it burns. Or maybe it's because it's been a while. He sort of put off playing with himself when he doubled up on his class load. Either way, it takes him longer than he anticipates to open himself up enough to feel comfortable giving the machine a go.

The mechanics of getting the machine up and running, then maneuvering himself onto it, prove tricky – kind of the way sex goes in real life. Getting in to position becomes an interesting feat, and he giggles more than once at the awkward squat he ends up opting for to make the whole thing work. Needless to say, it's going to take quite a bit of practice to get to the point where he can get on his hands and knees and slip onto the thing the way the actors in the online ad do.

Negotiating this machine does remind him of his first time, not his most stellar sexual experience, but good for what it was – two woefully inexperienced teenaged boys, on the cusp of graduating high school, the only out homosexual boys in their class, desperate not to leave their small Ohio hometown as virgins. They made one of those cliché pacts at the beginning of their senior year that if neither one of them could get laid on their own before graduation, they would lose their respective virginities to one another.

They didn't love each other, but they were really good friends and confidantes. They understood each other's struggles more than anyone. The sex was messy. There were a lot of embarrassing mishaps. Blaine didn't know how to kiss, using too much saliva and teeth; one of them farted; and they fell over twice; but all in all, it was fun, and as far as Blaine was concerned, that was the most important thing he could take away from the entire escapade.

Blaine feels his legs shake with strain before he even gets the machine turned on, and just knows he's in for a cramp before he gets the chance to cum. He adjusts the angle again to try and remedy that, gives it a few experimental bucks back, and then turns the remote control setting to a few notches above low.

Once he's got it started, it's a whole different world entirely. He imagined himself like the actor on the video – stroking himself, moaning, writhing with pleasure. But when the arm starts thrusting, moving the dildo in and out, in and out, he doesn't want to move. He just wants to kneel still and let the machine overwhelm him, let it fill him with sensation.

He wants to use it, and let it use him.

He takes a peek in the mirror, watches his own eyes glaze over as he stares at his face, jaw slackened unintentionally, his entire face relaxing, the rhythmic thrust-thrust-thrust of the machine putting him in a daze.

It's not human contact, the lube covered dildo shunting in and out of his ass, especially without the inclusion of arms around him, kisses on his skin, words inside his ear, a hand pulling his hair. Blaine is a notorious cuddle whore. He loves to be held, before, during, and after. But this machine, with its motor that's guaranteed for a year's worth of fucking, is the next best thing.

And the machine does its job, everything the online ad promises. Blaine's eyes roll when he feels his orgasm bubbling in his stomach, coiling tight, arching his back and curling his toes. He lets his eyelids drift closed so he can absorb it all, let it ripple through him, and maybe, just maybe, since the machine doesn't need to rest in between, Blaine can hold out for another, lower the dial so he can take a breather, then jump it up a few notches to see how much he can take – something he's always craved trying, but that no top he's ever known has been willing to do for him.

Blaine doesn't know why it happens, why the face pops into Blaine's head, but suddenly, amidst his shoulders dropping, his head falling to his arms to increase the intensity of the pulsations inside him, a vision of Kurt flashes behind his eyelids, standing at his counter, making Blaine's coffee, smiling that welcoming smile of his, and that does it.

“Oh, G-god!” Blaine moans, cumming so quick and so hard, his stomach actually hurts.

He stays kneeling on the floor, limp like a ragdoll, letting the machine work him through his orgasm until the pounding in his ass goes from cathartic to maddening. With a shaking hand, he switches the machine off. He'll try for endurance another time. For now, he's had enough.

Blaine moves away from his machine, not crawling across the floor, just falling further forward, letting momentum pull him off the dildo and into a lying position on the ground.

“God.” Blaine looks at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't move an inch other than to switch the speed on the remote, a simple roll of his thumb against the dial, but he looks wrecked. He feels his heart pound-pound-pound in his chest, nearly lifting his torso off the floor with every beat. Blaine tries to rise to his hands and knees again, but his arms and legs wobble, then give out, and he ends up back on the floor, landing with a thud and lightheaded giggle. “Oh, man. That was…wow,” Blaine mumbles, only distantly aware that he's talking to himself. “Definitely the best money I've ever spent…well, except for about two hundred medium drips.”

Blaine lies on the floor, alternating between testing his arms and legs and murmuring to himself, until he can finally make himself kneel, and then make himself stand. He cleans up, wiping down the dildo, cleaning up the aptly named lube, which, though it perfectly mimics the real thing, grosses Blaine out. He hops into a hot shower to reflect on that new, amazing, and somewhat bizarre experience. He can't say he didn't enjoy it, because he did. Hell yeah, he did. As soon as he can, he's going to get back on that website and leave an anonymous five-star review. But still, using it is something that he's going to have to practice.

Being intimate with something that realistic without the comfort of an actual live human being on the other end is something he'll need to get used to.

He's also going to have to come to terms with the last minute inclusion of Kurt's face into his fantasy, but he sets that aside for now, pins it in his mind for later. On his way to bed, he bends over and gives his new machine a pat.

Here he has it, the thing he'd been hoping for. No muss, no fuss, no complications, no angst, and no heartbreak.

It looks like the start of a new, beautiful relationship.