“Where are we going?” Kurt giggles, glancing over his shoulder at the club behind them, search lights from the rooftop flashing and music bumping so loud Kurt can barely hear himself think. They’ve left their friends inside, drinking, partying, and getting high. Kurt and Blaine weren’t very sneaky about cutting through the crowd and ducking out the back entrance, but odds are their friends don’t really miss them.

“You’ll see.” Blaine smirks, pulling Kurt closer as they make their way out into the dark parking lot.

“Can’t this wait until we get back to our place?” Kurt asks with a clue as to what Blaine has in mind. He’s not all that thrilled about doing the dirty in the backseat of Blaine’s BMW, not out here, but it’s better than a stall in the bathroom. Besides, it’s been a long night of grinding against his gorgeous boyfriend’s body in the tight confines of this new and slightly-off-the-beaten-path night club.

Honestly, if Blaine hadn’t thought of this, Kurt would have himself.

“Nu-uh,” Blaine replies, making a beeline for his car. “Not when you’ve been rubbing your ass up and down my crotch in those tight jeans for the past two hours. As it is, I’m probably not going to last longer than three seconds once I get you in my lap, and for that, I apologize.”

“You’d better last. Try putting on two condoms. It worked in American Pie,” Kurt teases, stealing another peek over his shoulder to make sure they’re not attracting any attention. But seeing as Kurt has already spotted another car rocking not too far from Blaine’s BMW being completely ignored by passersby, he doesn’t think that’s going to be an issue.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Blaine says, stopping a few feet from their destination to indulge in one, brief, martini-flavored kiss from his boyfriend, who has already got his hands at Blaine’s waist, working open the buttons to his jeans. They make it to the car, kissing and undressing, tripping over each other’s feet and giggling like teenagers. The streetlamp that Kurt demanded they park underneath for safety blinks uselessly overhead while Blaine pats down his pockets for his keys. His hands grope from front to back, then go over the same pockets again. He spins in a circle, looking down his body in a frantic search for his fob, spitting “Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, holding his partially unbuttoned shirt closed at the neck.

“I left my keys in my damn jacket,” Blaine groans. “And I checked my jacket when we walked in.”

“Dammit!” Kurt checks his own pockets fruitlessly for his set. Blaine drove specifically so that Kurt could drink, which means that Kurt’s keys – apartment, car, and all – are sitting in a dish on the counter in the kitchen. “And just when I was starting to look forward to reliving that make-out sesh in the back of your old Prius.”

Blaine looks at Kurt, one arm wrapped around his torso as he tries to block a breeze from weeding its way underneath his shirt. Then he scans the parking lot. They parked a fair distance away from the night club, equally far from it and the street. The light sputtering above them goes out more than it’s on, throwing them in darkness for long stretches at a time. But even if it didn’t, the crowds bustling toward the club are too occupied with getting there to give a crap about him and his boyfriend, and the people leaving look too drunk and exhausted to care either way.

He makes an executive decision. Praying that Kurt will be more horny than modest, he grabs him by the waist and starts dragging him into the shadows.

“Blaine …” Kurt goes along with it, too curious to stop him. “What are you doing?” Blaine pushes him up against the car, then drops to his knees. “Blaine! Don’t you dare! Not out here!”

“Why not? No one’s watching.”

“Because …. because … well, just because.” Kurt knows there has to be a reason, even if one isn’t readily springing to mind. But it goes along with words like propriety, decency, and illegal. But if he didn’t have to concern himself with the consequences of being arrested for public indecency, he’d tear off his clothes and straddle his boyfriend’s face right here, right now. He reaches down to shoo Blaine away, but grabbing Kurt’s wrists with one hand and keeping them out of range is a practiced maneuver of Blaine’s. He manages it easily.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always saying that we should break out of our safe little worlds?” Blaine says, swiftly getting Kurt’s fly down and his cock out. He gives him a lick. He tastes sweaty from dancing and sweet from the organic coconut oil he moisturizes with. It’s a combination that makes Blaine salivate.

“You said that.” Kurt struggles halfheartedly, taking a step back, or trying to, his ass bumping into the passenger door of Blaine’s car. “And we were in high school, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t right.” Blaine sucks Kurt’s cock in his mouth and Kurt’s body shudders.

“Blaine!” Kurt whines, but it’s moot at this point. He’s objecting for show. He’s wanted his boyfriend’s mouth since their first kiss of the evening. When they walked through the door of the club, Blaine’s favorite song was playing. He’d grabbed Kurt around the waist, dipped him low, and kissed him because why not? There were so many people cluttering the dance floor, the two of them were practically invisible. The same way they are now, hidden from the view of people who couldn’t care less if they were having sex or hitting a bong. They’ve gotten this far. They might as well keep going if Blaine is so determined to give him a blow.

That doesn’t mean Kurt won’t give him a hard time about it … so to speak.

“Blaine, I’ll never forgive you if you … Blai---oh … oh God!”

***

“F-fuck you, Donovan!”

Donovan sneers, brown eyes blazing. He rounds on the bruised woman in her torn white button down and running black thigh highs, and slaps her again.

“Fuck you, Kitty!” he screams in her ear, snatching a handful of her blonde hair and shaking till the strands rip out of her scalp. “You fuckin’ bitch! Who do you think you are, huh?” He grabs her face in one hand and squeezes, digging his nails into her cheeks until she yelps in pain. She glares at him, eyes defiant, blistering through him with as much hate as he throws at her. “Where do you think you are, little girl? Huh? This is my turf, and you work for me! You turn tricks for me! Got it? You’re my property!” He shoves her away, intent on knocking her to the ground. She trips backward, stockings snagging on the rough floor beneath her feet, but she remains standing.

“Yeah?” She brings her fingers up - bloodied where her nails had torn in an initial scuffle between her and one of Donovan’s thugs - to examine her split upper lip, and her left eye, swollen shut. “Well, not anymore.”

“Whatcha gonna do?” Donovan tugs at his collar with one hooked finger, then loosens the knot on his silk tie. Trussed up in a three-piece suit, sporting a hundred dollar haircut, he gives off the impression to those who don’t know him that he’s a stand-up guy, not a cheap thug who beats on women. It works with most people, but it never worked on Kitty. She knew him for what he was the first moment she laid eyes on him. She knew, and she should have looked at the ground and kept on walking.

But she needed the money.

Donovan lunges forward and grabs her by the neck.

“You gonna go off with that Puckerman guy? That dumbass cop? You’re gonna tell him all about us, aren’t you? You gonna roll over on us, after all I’ve done for you?”

Kitty’s knees turn to rubber. She didn’t know that Donovan knew. She’d been so careful, or so she thought. So this isn’t about her … well, it is, but it’s more about Jake. And now Jake’s in danger. Fuck! She has to think of something. She has to do something quick. She has to protect Jake.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Kitty says, and she means it, but fear slips in and she doesn’t sound too convincing. “I never had any intention of telling him.”

“And why should I believe you, huh?” He squeezes harder, overwrought with rage and a snort of blow. “Why? Because you’ve been so fucking loyal to us till now?”

Kitty can see in his eyes – too much pupil and blood-shot whites - he’s gone crazy. Donovan has come unhinged once or twice, but this - this is fucking frightening.

“B-because I love him,” she says. She realizes too late that probably wasn’t the smartest thing she could have done, revealing the one thing that had become so important to her, she knew she couldn’t live without it. “B-because I … I don’t want you to hurt him.”

But here’s her chance. Donovan likes weak women. It turns him on – whimpering and sniveling, begging for mercy. Maybe she can find a way out of this if she gives him something he wants.

“Well, then …” Donovan presses his evil grin against her cheek “… maybe you do nice, and I leave you and your little cop friend alone.” He pushes down on her neck, forcing her to the ground. “On your knees ... and open your mouth.”

***

“Oh … oh God, Blaine,” Kurt moans, thrusting his hips forward, leaning back on the car to keep from collapsing to the floor. It’s too much … it’s just too much, too good. Blaine, he’s … he’s just too good at this. “Oh God, oh God, oh God …”

Blaine pulls away from Kurt’s cock and smiles, looking up at his wrecked boyfriend with smug satisfaction.

“So, do you forgive me?” he asks, teasing the head of Kurt’s cock with his tongue while he waits for an answer.

“Maybe,” Kurt says, shivering as his spit-covered dick catches the chill from the air. “Not yet. Less talking, more sucking.” He grabs Blaine’s hair and yanks him forward, with Blaine chuckling as he takes his boyfriend back into his mouth.

***

“I want you to remember this, Kitty,” Donovan moans, sinking his fingers into the sides of her head and fucking her mouth hard, “when you go down on Mr. Cop boyfriend of yours. I’m gonna cum so far down your throat that you’re gonna taste me instead. And then you’re never gonna forget that I got to you first.”

Donovan laughs, thick and cruel. And contagious. Other men laugh, too, and a few women - too high and too scared to do anything other than go along with it and pray that they don’t end up in Kitty’s shoes next. Kitty vomits a little, choking on it. She’d stopped being able to breath a while ago, and the world has started to go black. Her nostrils burn and her eyes water. Her face turns bright red, but her lips a pale blue, stretched tight over Donovan’s cock, the split in her lip spreading and oozing blood.

“Nico,” Donovan calls to one of his flunkies nearby. “Why don’t you take out your phone and record this so we can send it to boyfriend right now?”

Donovan thrusts hard and Kitty retches, eliciting a louder wave of laughter from the men in the room. But inside her addled brain, she panics - lack of oxygen mixed with the fear that Donovan might have Jake’s number, that he might know where he lives, that Donovan could snap his fingers and send someone to Jake’s apartment to pick him up, drag him down here, watch her be raped with a gun to his head, and then …

What would they do to him? They’d probably kill him, but it wouldn’t be quick.

It wouldn’t be painless.

She can’t give them the chance. She has to get away. She has to protect him. She should have known better than to get wrapped up with him. She should have pushed him away – far away.

But it’s too late for that now.

Now she has to do something.

First, she has to breathe. She can’t pass out here. She can’t let them leave her here while they hunt Jake down. But she can’t think. She can’t breathe and she can’t think. So instead, she reacts.

She bites down hard.

“Ow! God … dammit!” Donovan kicks Kitty in the stomach, sending her sprawling to the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ!” With his hand over his cock, he drops to his knees, sucking in deep breaths to rid himself of the throbbing pain. “You … you fucking … you bitch! Nico!”

Nico stomps over from where he’s been laughing in the shadows. Suddenly serious, he whips Kitty in the temple with the butt of his gun. She cries out, curling into a ball, shaking hands covering her bleeding face.

“You never learn, Kitty,” Donovan says, shoving his sore cock back in his pants and zipping up, still unable to stand. “You never fucking learn! I was good to you.” He flicks his eyes at Nico and nods. Nico whips her again. She cries harder. “I was fucking good to you! But you never learn! And if a bitch can’t learn, you’re not worth anything. Nico.”

Nico looks at his boss, then down at Kitty with a grim smile. He cocks his weapon.

Kitty hears it. She knows what’s going to happen. She knows she can’t stop it.

“Go … to … hell …” she groans, spitting out blood and the shattered pieces of a wisdom tooth. There’s nothing - no way to save Jake. No way to avoid this. It would take an army to save them.

She would do anything in her power to give Jake an army.

She closes her eyes.

Donovan smiles at her surrender.

“You first,” he says. “And then the boyfriend, too.”

Nico puts the barrel to her head.

***

“Oh … oh Blaine! Yes, Blaine! Just like … that---Oh God …”

Kurt cums in Blaine’s mouth, his high-pitched staccato gasp hitting the air like a bullet going off in Blaine’s head. Blaine chuckles at that picture, of Kurt’s mouth opening and, “Bang!” But it was probably just a car backfiring at an inopportune time. They are outside, after all, which probably explains why Kurt is cumming so hard. Regardless of how he acts, how prim, how innocent, how scandalized he pretends to be when he sees two people going at it in a dark alley or a parked car, he can be quite the exhibitionist when he wants to be – with Blaine, at least.

With Blaine’s attention trained solely on Kurt, trying to see his o-face, Blaine could fool himself into believing it was a gunshot he heard. But he stops himself thinking about that because Blaine loves this part – when Kurt’s body folds, unable to stay upright, his cock pulsing and twitching as he shoots into Blaine’s mouth. He feels Kurt spurt hot and wet all over his face … but how? Blaine has his lips locked around his boyfriend’s cock and he’s sucking him dry. There’s no way …

Blaine shifts his gaze and catches a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface of his BMW. It doesn’t register at first. It looks like Kurt’s cum, but only for a split second. Then Blaine’s eyes go wide. His face … it’s covered in blood! Kurt’s blood! It has to be. There’s no other explanation. And that sound, like a gunshot ...

No! It was a gunshot! Kurt’s been shot!

Blaine pulls back when he hears Kurt groan. Kurt bends forward, his arms wrapped around his waist.

“OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod, Kurt!” Blaine goes to stand, but the ball of his foot hits a patch of loose, wet gravel, and he slides. He falls hard on his knee, sending pain spiraling up his leg, temporarily crippling him. “Fuck! Help! Someone help!” He reaches out to catch Kurt before he falls. “My boyfriend’s been shot! Someone help! Help us, please!”

A ruckus builds, confused people talking over one another, running his way.

Arms wrap around him. A voice talks in his ear.

“Baby.” Kurt kneels on the asphalt in front of his boyfriend, gathering him up, shaking like a leaf in his arms. “Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” But Blaine can’t answer, his muscles turning to Jell-O the tighter Kurt holds on. The gunshot echoes in his head. He remembers the blood streaming down his face, the sound of Kurt in pain … or someone else in pain. A woman, maybe? Whimpering … crying … begging …

For Jake?

“It’s alright everybody,” Kurt calls out to the forming crowd. “It’s okay. No one’s been shot. There’s been a mistake.”

“What the …?” A few people grumble, throwing Kurt and Blaine annoyed looks before heading back to the club, but even more people sound relieved. If one false alarm is all the excitement they get for tonight, they’ll be glad.

“Are you sure you don’t need 9-1-1?” A man standing beyond the circle of light created by the suddenly steady streetlamp asks. “Your friend there doesn’t look too good.”

“I’m sure. Thank you,” Kurt replies with a smile, trying to be polite while he fights to ignore the aftershocks of the orgasm that has yet to subside, and the cramp he got in his abs from holding his breath. “We’re good. He’s just … he’s just a little …” Kurt doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what Blaine is right now actually. Blaine didn’t have a lot to drink, and he didn’t take anything.

What the hell was going on?

But for whatever Kurt didn’t say, the man seems to understand, raising a hand to wave and leaving the two men alone. Kurt watches the crowd disperse, waiting until he knows they’re alone before he tries again with Blaine.

“Blaine?” Kurt looks into his boyfriend’s face, seeing only his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and his eyelashes, wet with tears. “What happened, baby? You scared me to death.”

“I … I thought you’d been” - Blaine swallows the last word. It barely makes it out of his mouth - “shot.”

“Shot? By who, baby? Who would shoot me? There’s nobody else here.” Kurt turns his head left and right. The parking lot is empty now. The sidewalk almost so, and only a few cars drive down the one-way street beyond. He didn’t hear anything while Blaine was blowing him, but he was in his zone, tuning out everything else and focusing on Blaine’s exquisite mouth.

Damn Blaine and that tongue of his, making Kurt oblivious to everything.

“I don’t know.” Blaine shakes his head. “I just …”

Blaine raises his eyes and takes another look at his reflection - desperate to erase that image of himself with blood streaming down his face - and goes into shock. It’s not him. The reflection that should be his is not. It’s a young woman, with long blonde hair clinging to her cheeks; bright blue eyes, red around the rims; and a gunshot wound in the center of her forehead, pouring blood down her pale skin, over her eyelids, her nose, her mouth. Her eyes gloss over, half-dead already, but she whispers something he can only read as her lips move.

“I see you,” she says, the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “Remember …” She looks like she’s trying to say something else, but nothing. She’s run out of time. Her eyes roll back, her body falling through space. The image disappears, replaced by his own, which he hardly recognizes.

Tears roll down his cheeks. He can’t get them to stop. He feels like he’s going to be sick in Kurt’s arms.

“What is it?” Kurt asks, concern turning into fear. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Blaine doesn’t know why he answers the way he does. It doesn’t make sense, but he can’t think of any other answer. His mind has gone a hundred shades of blank. He tries not to say it, pinching his lips tight and biting them together till they sting, but there’s no way he can’t. He has to let the words out or else they’re going to rip him to pieces.

“K-kitty,” he says, trembling so hard, his body might fall apart. “Someone shot … someone killed …” He shakes his head again, looking at Kurt’s confused face, his eyes searching for any sign that he thinks Blaine has gone insane. But Kurt doesn’t, because that’s not the man Kurt is. Kurt loves Blaine. He’ll find a way to believe him. He’ll help him. So Blaine needs to tell him. “Someone killed Kitty, and I … I have to find Jake.”