The next afternoon, an exhausted Kurt leaned over the engine of a beat-up Suzuki Esteem, blinking his heavy eyelids every five minutes to keep them open while simultaneously trying to stifle a yawn.

"Is that Suzuki finished yet, Kurt?" Burt yelled from his office.

“Not yet,” Kurt groaned, wincing as his dad’s voice echoed painfully in his ears.

Burt watched his son sink farther into the engine of that car without actually accomplishing anything, becoming concerned about his son’s sudden decline in work ethic.

“Why are you dragging your feet today?”

"I’m not dragging my feet.” It was only a partial lie. “Give me five more minutes, dad," Kurt said, biting back another traitorous yawn. He looked at the filthy Suzuki engine, corroded battery connectors stained with white residue, pockmarked lines loosely crossing every which way. If this was Kurt’s vehicle, he wouldn’t even keep it for spare parts, but some people just didn’t know when to junk their car and move on. He strained against a bolt, fighting years of old rust to loosen it. He mumbled to himself, highly disgruntled. "Though it would be easier if they just scrap this worthless piece of..."

The high-pitched ding of the call bell pulled Kurt’s attention away from the engine. He jerked his head up and looked outside to see a black car making its way into the bay. He stood and peeked over a few cars to see a Toyota Corolla roll to a stop. Kurt glanced toward the office to see his dad come out and approach the vehicle. Since he didn’t have to worry about greeting a new customer, Kurt returned to his work.

Kurt became frustrated with what he considered to be a sad excuse for a car, and moved on to cleaning up a Honda that he had repaired earlier. It was supposed to be Mark’s job to do the final clean-ups, but he rarely did, and Kurt knew this car’s owner was due to arrive any minute. He finished vacuuming out the passenger side foot well when he heard a throat clearing behind him.

"One minute," Kurt said. He turned off the vacuum and started to back out of the car when he heard an unmistakable yet quiet 'damn' from behind him in a strikingly familiar voice.

Kurt straightened, and spun around. "What are you doing here?"

Blaine put his hands up defensively, a sly smirk curling his lips.

"That's no way to talk to a customer," he teased. He thumbed over his shoulder, motioning to the Toyota.

"You're driving a Corolla now?" Kurt scoffed. "You know, your car choices are getting a little ridiculous."

"Oh, don't even try to front." Blaine closed the space between them. "I know the Mustang gets you hot."

Kurt brushed passed Blaine, trying desperately to will away the sudden flush to his cheeks, and walked briskly toward the car. Blaine followed behind, smiling wider, knowing he had hit a nerve.

"Besides,” Blaine continued, “word on the street is that your dad doesn't like racers, so I figured I'd come here covertly."

"And that's what you chose as your Trojan horse?" Kurt said with disgust. He picked up a clipboard from a nearby station to jot down the car’s information.

"The Corolla's my mom's,” Blaine explained. “She asked me to go get the oil changed, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone."

"You know," Kurt said, not looking up from his paper work, "not that we don't appreciate the business, but there's a Jiffy Lube right down the block. They specialize in oil changes. In and out in less than 30 minutes."

"But I heard you're the best in town," Blaine drawled, enjoying how easily he could make Kurt's flawless complexion go from pale to fire engine red in nearly record time. "And in and out in 30 minutes doesn't interest me. I'm willing to wait if you're going to take your time."

Kurt bit his lip in frustration as he scrawled the last few pieces of information on to the form in his hand. He had had enough of all the innuendo. He didn’t want to hear it from Sebastian, and he definitely didn’t want to hear it from Blaine. Apart from that, and possibly more to the point, he couldn’t stand how his body reacted to the way Blaine dropped subtle hints in that sinful voice of his. His head snapped up, his face flushing deeper with a hint of desire, but his eyes blazing with full-on righteous anger.

"Then I suggest you leave and let me get to it,” he growled, trying to steady his trembling voice. He thrust out a hand, silently asking Blaine for the car key. Blaine's face softened, his eyes melting to that sultry honey color that made Kurt weak at the knees. He took Kurt's hand in his and brought it swiftly to his lips. He paused a breath, then kissed Kurt's knuckles. Kurt watched Blaine's eyelids drift closed as he pressed his lips to his skin. His skin tingled where Blaine's lips touched him, traveling in waves up his arm and spiraling out all over his body. Kurt was so shocked that he couldn't even think to grab his hand back. Blaine began to pull away, lifting his gaze to meet Kurt's. Kurt's eyes still glowed with blue flame, but not out of anger this time.

Blaine released Kurt's hand and backed away.

"I'll be back in an hour," Blaine promised, "and then maybe we can discuss working out those kinks you mentioned."

Kurt was about to call after him, to remind Blaine that he had forgotten to leave the key, but he had a hard time finding his voice. The feeling in Kurt's tingling skin came back and he curled his fingers into his palm, making a fist. That’s when he realized that when Blaine had kissed him, he had also slipped the key into his hand.

Kurt stood for a moment, key clutched in one hand, clipboard grasped tightly in the other, more stunned than ever. He felt another presence nearby, and looked over to where his father watched from just inside the office door. Burt followed Blaine with his eyes, then turned to look at his son. Kurt locked eyes with his father, and Burt raised a questioning eyebrow. Kurt stared numbly, mouth slightly agape, lips moving as he attempted to speak words. His dad chuckled, shaking his head. He left Kurt alone with the Corolla and went back to work.