Kurt stares into Blaine's pleading eyes, overwhelmingly conflicted. Kurt wants to kiss Blaine again, more than anything, but he also doesn't want Blaine to get the wrong idea. He doesn't want Blaine to think he kissed him because he could, because Blaine was paid to be there, paid to be intimate with him.

He wants Blaine to know that he kissed him because he wanted to.

When Kurt doesn't go back to kissing him right away, Blaine begs again.

”Please, Kurt. Please, kiss me.”

Kurt needs to explain himself, but he has no words, and worst of all, he finds himself helpless against that plea in Blaine's voice.

“Blaine…”

Kurt whispers his name as the start of an objection, but it's swallowed when Blaine leans forward to kiss him, and God – his lips are as soft as they look. They're not only soft, they're warm, and they fit against Kurt's lips perfectly, as if Blaine was put on this Earth to kiss Kurt. Kurt struggles not to over-romanticize this kiss. Yes, Blaine is sweet and handsome and amazing, but Kurt can't get too attached. Kurt figures it's just that he misses this – intimacy, touch, physical attraction. Kurt's body is aglow with it, every nerve waking up as if from a dead sleep in response to the way Blaine scratches his nails lightly down his back, and the magical things he does with his tongue. Whatever it is that's happening to him, regardless of whatever reason he can come up with to explain it away, Kurt wants Blaine. It's been coded in his mind these last few hours that Kurt wants him. Kurt can forget it all for one night. He can put aside his own stupid moral codes and the implications of Blaine's job, and just have this one night of passion with Blaine.

That wouldn't make him a horrible person…would it?

Kurt feels Blaine's arms wrap around him, Blaine's fingers sliding across his body erasing every single protest he can think to give.

“Oh, Kurt…” These two words are like a line around Kurt's body, reeling him in, pulling at him until he's standing from the floor and climbing onto the sofa over Blaine's body. Kurt hears Blaine whimper, a small desperate note of surrender as Kurt lays his body down.

“Blaine…” Kurt's kisses travel away from Blaine's mouth and across his jaw, heading toward his neck. Blaine trembles with every touch of Kurt's lips on his skin, and Kurt searches out those spots – those sensitive patches of skin that make Blaine shiver beneath him. Kurt breathes in as he sucks a mark into Blaine's neck, smiling when Blaine tightens his hold around him and moans louder. Kurt never realized how potent a good old-fashioned make-out session could be. Blaine smells like cedar and cloves, and his skin is salty and hot beneath Kurt's tongue. Everything about him – his scent, his moans, the touch of his skin, the taste of his mouth – makes Kurt high.

He could easily get addicted to kissing Blaine Anderson.

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine moans, his mouth running away on him, rambling as if he has no choice, no will of his own as long as Kurt's lips are caressing his skin, “I've wanted to kiss you for so long. I've dreamed about kissing you…so many times…”

The words soak their way into Kurt's body, all the way to his blood, before he recognizes them. Even then, it takes nearly a minute until their meaning makes its way to his brain, and his mind, muddied by kisses and heat and his need to have this man naked underneath him, becomes crystal clear.

When it does, the fire growing inside him goes cold.

Kurt sits straight up, pulling away from Blaine's embrace, and Blaine, staring up at him with pupils blown and lips swollen, looks sincerely frightened.

“Explain that to me,” Kurt demands, crossing his arms over his chest. Blaine reaches out for him, trying to take his hand, but Kurt pulls another inch away, needing a moment to catch his breath and give the blood in his body time to make the return trip back to his head. “Because I get the feeling that you know me, and to tell you the truth, you seem familiar, but I can't remember ever seeing you before.”

Blaine's body deflates beneath Kurt's inquisitive gaze and his head drops to the side, his eyes looking down at Kurt's legs still straddling his body.

“You have seen me,” Blaine says with a heavy sigh, “you just haven't noticed me before.”

Blaine moves to sit up and Kurt climbs off of him, taking a seat on the sofa so that Blaine can do the same, needing distance in order to make sense of this. Blaine stares down at his rumpled pants and the shoes that he had to borrow, which are actually a half size too small for his feet and have been pinching his toes all night. “I have a confession to make,” Blaine starts, lacing his fingers together and folding his hands in his lap. “I'm not really a male escort. I sit behind you in your History of Modern Art Class.” Blaine chuckles. “I've actually been sitting behind you since the beginning of the school year, though to be fair, I'm not sure you notice anybody in that class. You don't seem to pay much attention.”

Kurt feels the air escape his body – a cleansing breath of confusion and relief, but with a bit of annoyance, too. He can't be too angry that Blaine lied about being a male escort. That confession opens the door to so many possibilities – possibilities that Kurt had been mourning mere moments before.

But if Blaine lied about that, what else has he been lying about?

“That art class is an elective,” Kurt explains with a shrug. “I was forced to take it, to fulfill some asinine liberal arts requirement, which I think is ridiculous considering my major.”

Blaine nods in agreement.

“Me, too.” Blaine gives a weak smile. “The first day of class, you showed up early. You were already sitting at your desk when I arrived and there was barely anybody else there. I saw you, and…” Blaine sighs, a dreamy look crossing his face, “but I didn't talk to you because you were looking through a wedding magazine, and I thought maybe, you know…that you were engaged. But a few classes later, you were on the phone with someone talking about being set-up on a blind date, and I knew that you weren't.” Blaine shakes his head. “God, I've wanted to ask you out for so long.”

Kurt remembers that day in class. He was arguing over the phone with Santana about some guy she tried to set him up with. He kept telling her no but she wouldn't listen, pretending lamely that she was going through a tunnel and couldn't hear him. Kurt ended up calling the guy himself and talking his way out of that date.

He knows beggars can't be choosers, but Kurt couldn't see himself dating a man who tested the effects of processed food additives on lab rats for a living.

“How do you know Santana though?” Kurt asks. “Usually when she finds out someone even thinks they might consider liking me, she tries to throw us together, but she hasn't mentioned you. How did she know to come to you for this, or was that just a crazy coincidence?”

“Six degrees of separation,” Blaine says, still not looking up from his hands. “Her girlfriend Brittany is in a dance class I take…”

“You're a dancer?” Kurt asks, swayed by the idea that this handsome, sensitive, romantic guy that he has so much in common with can dance, too.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, his worried expression melting a bit. “I'm a musical theater major, which should explain the crappy scholarship.”

Kurt laughs sympathetically. He had considered musical theater as a major. The extreme differences in the scholarships offered was one of the big reasons he stuck with design.

“So, I take it you've been to Callbacks,” Kurt says, affirming that suspicion. “And I take it you've seen me at Callbacks. That's how you knew I can sing.”

“Yeah,” Blaine admits quietly. “I went there with a group of other musical theater majors from school and I saw you. I went back a bunch of times, trying to get the nerve to talk to you.”

“That was quick thinking with the pictures, though,” Kurt mentions, trying to relieve some of the tension.

“Thanks.”

Kurt reaches out and puts a hand over Blaine's hands. Blaine looks at their hands together, then follows the line of Kurt's arm with his eyes till he reaches Kurt's face.

“Please, Blaine,” Kurt implores. “Tell me everything. Tell me the truth.”

Blaine nods and lets his gaze drop back to their somewhat joined hands.

“That party Santana went to tonight? I was there.” Blaine sighs again as if the next confession out of his mouth would kill him. “I was delivering pizzas. She spotted me in my uniform and pulled me aside. She said you needed…uh…” Blaine blushes and Kurt smiles. It's kind of hot how Blaine gets flustered so easily. “She said you needed a date. She knew that I liked you and asked me if I was down. I said yes. I mean, who wouldn't be?”

Blaine peeks up and sees Kurt's soft expression turn skeptical, eyelids narrowing and an eyebrow raised.

“She said I needed a date?” Kurt asks, knowing that Blaine was covering for whatever Santana really said. Kurt knows that Santana has no filter. She tends to be crass 24/7.

That means that Blaine, in his effort not to offend Kurt with a direct quote from the woman herself, is a real gentleman.

“Uh…sort of…I might be paraphrasing…” Blaine bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling, knowing that he's trapped into telling the whole truth. “She said that…” He smiles steadily until his face hurts, and Kurt laughs again without needing to know the punchline. Blaine takes a deep breath to help him finish his sentence. “She said you needed some deep dicking, alright?” Blaine says quickly, breaking into a fit of nervous laughter with Kurt having his own break down beside him.

“Yup,” Kurt says, struggling to catch his breath. “That sounds like her alright.”

“B-but I wouldn't have gone through with it,” Blaine bursts out unintentionally, his lips loosened by his unrestrained laughter, and Kurt's laughing stops dead. Blaine groans, “Oh, God,” and chokes on the words crowding his mouth. “I mean…I would have, I so would have. God, I would have…”

Kurt can't help laughing again - the look of complete terror on Blaine's face painfully ridiculous as he tries to explain himself, digging himself into a bigger and bigger hole with every syllable out of his mouth.

“Take a deep breath,” Kurt says, squeezing Blaine's hand for support. Blaine stops talking and does as Kurt says, inhaling slowly and then exhaling, repeating again until his tongue unties.

“But, really,” Blaine continues, “I just wanted to spend time with you, get to know you, and this seemed like a good way.”

“Pretending to be a male escort was the best way to get you to my door?” Kurt asks with an edge of disapproval.

“I didn't want to do it that way,” Blaine admits. “I didn't want to lie to you. I would have preferred to tell you the truth from the beginning. Santana came up with the cover story about the escort service. She had the business card, found me the suit and these shoes…” Blaine winces, wiggling his strangled toes, trying to get rid of the numbing sensation that's taking over. “She was pretty sure that if I showed up out-of-the-blue and asked you out, that you would immediately turn me away. I needed a hook to get you interested.”

Kurt wants to disagree, but he can't. Santana knows him better than he gives her credit for.

“Oh, God,” Kurt says, his face falling, raising a hand to his lips. “She's right. I would have.” Kurt takes in Blaine's sad smile. What a change from the man who showed up unannounced on his doorstep. Blaine's false Lothario image and his conceited attitude have completely stripped away, revealing an authentically nice guy who simply wanted a chance. A knot of guilt grows in Kurt's chest and drops straight into his stomach. Kurt is not about to apologize to anyone for being dedicated to his work, but how many times had Kurt bemoaned the lack of good guys in New York? Guys that shared his interests? Guys that he could talk to? Guys that he might find a real connection with? And there one was, sitting behind him for an hour a day this whole time, and Kurt never noticed him. Kurt can't remember ever turning around in that class…or looking up for that matter. The syllabus for History of Modern Art is fairly in depth. If attendance wasn't mandatory (30% of his grade), he probably wouldn't show up. “I'm sorry…”

“You've apologized to me a lot tonight,” Blaine interrupts politely, looking into Kurt's eyes. “You've got to stop. I've had the best time, and I finally got to talk to you. I don't know about you, but this was by far one of my best Valentine's Days ever.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, nodding. “Mine, too.”

Blaine doesn't want to stop looking at Kurt, at that gorgeous smile of his aimed Blaine's way, but if he doesn't, he won't find the courage to stand up and leave.

Blaine can't help but feel that he's overstayed his welcome. Maybe he won't see Kurt again after this - outside of class, that is - but at least Kurt won't hate him.

Hopefully.

“Well, I'd better get going,” Blaine says, disentangling their hands, frowning when he's forced to let go. He runs his palms down his thighs and over his knees, smoothing out the wrinkles in his ruined slacks before he stands. “I don't want to take up any more of your time. I know you've got all this work to do, and I don't want to bother you…”

“Blaine…” Kurt grabs Blaine's hand firmly in his and holds on, stopping him from saying another word. With confusion furrowing his brow, Blaine sits back down on the sofa, a renewed look of hope in his wide eyes. “You went through all of this just to meet me, to have the chance to get to know me. You've stood for hours, let me stick you full of pins, you've listened to me ramble…do you think I'm going to let you go that easily?”

Blaine's brow furrows deeper.

“Wh---what…” Blaine stumbles. “I don't understand. But I lied…”

“About being a male escort!” Kurt finishes, wondering fleetingly if they're destined to turn into one of those couples that forever complete each other's sentences. “I like you, Blaine, but I couldn't date a male escort, and believe me, while you were asleep, I considered it. I really really considered it.”

Blaine laughs, and it's a laugh that Kurt knows he wants to hear more of.

“You know what I think?” Kurt asks. Blaine shakes his head in reply. “I think that I need a little vacation from all of this.” He waves his hand around, indicating the half-constructed coats needing to be finished, the suit pieces still on the floor waiting to be pinned and sewn, the patterns ready to be cut, the remaining bolts of fabric needing to be ironed.

“But, your suits…” Blaine argues, looking with dismay at the work left that Kurt needs to finish, the home-stretch of this project that means so much to him. “If we keep going, you can be done by the time the sun comes up.”

“I've got a few days. This can wait a little while.” Kurt stands up from the couch, taking Blaine's hands and pulling him up along with him. “You see, I just met this great guy…” Kurt walks backwards with Blaine's hands in his, leading Blaine through the apartment to his bedroom, “and I think I need to take a little time to get to know him better.”

Kurt stops in front of his door and reaches for the knob, but Blaine tugs on his hand to get his attention.

“Are you sure?” Blaine asks, then kicks himself mentally for asking. He looks at Kurt while he waits for an answer, praying he'll still say yes.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt says with a sly grin - a grin that makes Blaine's sore toes curl. “But if you're willing to help me finish my suits, we can do it in the morning…after I make you breakfast.”