It was stiflingly hot in Quinn's car, the September sunshine only magnified through the windows and burning onto the leather seats until Blaine felt like he was smothered in heat as he rolled a joint on her dashboard. Music blasted from her stereo, something old and familiar and they screamed the words in broken, cracked falsetto until they were hoarse, laughing and flopping back against the sticky leather as Blaine twisted the paper between his fingers.

"This is harder than I thought it would be, Q."

She was sipping from a hipflask, boots propped against the steering wheel as she dozed in the sun like a cat.

"You've done it a million times."

Her voice was light at teasing and if his tongue hadn't been busy smoothing down the glide of paper he would have stuck it out at her.

"Not this you –"

"I know," she laughed, tipping back her head and swallowing as he slid the wrinkled paper into a gliding cylinder and bringing it to his lips, lighting the end and inhaling once, twice, three times until his head was spinning enough to fall back against the headrest.

He blew a thick grey stream towards the roof, watching it pillow against the black and nudged the volume of the radio up with the toe of his boot.

Quinn hooked the joint from his fingers and replaced it with the flask, taking two choking drags as he sipped something that flamed down his throat and stretched arm to prop behind his head.

"I just…" she said eventually, her voice gravelly as she passed the joint back, "Maybe you're not going the right way about it?"

"How so?"

"Well," she pulled her sunglasses of and tangled them in her hair, turning to face him completely with her back against the door and legs curled up, "We only have to fuck them, right?"

Blaine rolled his head lazily to the side, vision swimming and blurring with sunbeams in the corners of his eyes.

"Right."

"And," she paused to take a deep swallow, gesturing with the hand grasping the flask, "Here we are, trying to play nice and ask them out –"

"Still don't recall you doing any asking," he muttered, "But carry on."

"Well…well that's it. Look, Blainey. If you play this right then you're getting to fuck Seb and Hummel." She shrugged, "That's it. You fucking two guys, simple. It's not hard or new or even that much of a challenge when you think about it. It's just…you."

"But…Hummel –"

"Hummel's a stuck up virgin princess," she conceded with a dip of the flask in his direction, "But he's also a teenage boy. He's as much of a hormone driven sucker as the rest of them. As Seb. Or Puckerman. Or even you."

Blaine frowned slightly, taking another drag and breathing deep, letting the smoke itch its way down his throat and into his lungs, holding until his mind was fuzzy with heat and lack of oxygen and letting the smoke slip from between his lips and cloud through the hazy air of the car.

"You're a fucking genius sometimes, you know that Q?"

Quinn shrugged and he reached out with a heavy arm, letting his fingers cup her jaw and drag her face closer. He sucked on the tip of the joint and pulled her lips towards his, letting the hot smoke move between the press of their mouths and felt her smile against him, moving her hand up to lace their fingers together against her neck.

"Besides," she said, croaky and rough when he pulled away enough to touch their foreheads lightly together, "From the way you've been staring at Hummel's ass recently, I figured you needed reminding that you're only in this for the fucking. Just in case you'd forgotten."

Blaine huffed out a laugh, letting his thumb drift across the beating pulse of her neck.

"He does have a magnificent ass," he considered, mind suddenly filled with the tight cling of red pants and the confusing bend and twist of the Cheerio's dance moves in said pants, "But I doubt even a good fucking from me could dislodge the stick up it."

He groaned and let his head fall forwards to knock back against Quinn's.

"He's infuriating. I don't know how I'm going to get through this without punching him, or –"

"You could always gag him?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Hey, Hummel."

Kurt had been late that morning, marching down the hall so fast he hadn't noticed Blaine leaning inches from his locker, yanking it open breathlessly and tugging books out as the bell echoed past them.

He jumped as Blaine spoke, a hand flying to clutch at his chest as he closed his eyes, breathing deep.

"Fucking hell, Anderson. Do you have to creep up on me all the time?"

Blaine raised his hands in mock defence as Kurt glared at him and turned back to his locker, pulling out a can of hairspray and misting it around his head until Blaine could taste it in the back of his throat.

"I don't creep up. I was already here, it's not my fault you're exceptionally unobservant."

"Or maybe I just care so little about your presence that I didn't notice it until you forced yourself into my face," Kurt snapped back, voice still frustratingly calm as he examined his face in a mirror, rubbing his thumbs beneath his eyes and flicking a loose strand of hair back.

"Well maybe if you unstuck your head from your own ass for a minute you wouldn't have that problem," Blaine hissed, hand catching on the locker door and slamming it closed so hard that Kurt jumped back slightly with a shocked noise.

He was breathing hard, jaw clenching and one hand balled into a tight fist inside his pocket but Kurt was just staring, eyes narrowed as he took two steps back shaking his head, turning and walking down the now deserted hall away from him.

"Yeah keep walking Hummel. All you're doing is giving me a perfect view."

Blaine saw Kurt pause mid stride, only a few feet away. Saw his fingers twitch and flex slightly by his side and the tense ridge of his shoulders tighten.

He turned, slowly, fixing Blaine with a steely glare.

"I'm sorry?" Kurt hissed in a dangerous tone, his voice suddenly low and furious and Blaine was struck by the hard line of his jaw. It was easy for Blaine to forget, but under Hummel's ice-queen exterior was something inherently, fiercely masculine and Blaine's throat was suddenly dry at the twist of shirt pulled tight over his chest, the way he turned sharp and moved back towards him.

"There's no need to apologise," Blaine said, swallowing hard as Kurt advanced. He relaxed backwards, leaning against the locker and folding his arms as Kurt moved closer, "Really, it's fine. I'm sure you love putting on a show."

Kurt opened his mouth indignantly but Blaine was grasping him, one hand closing around his hip to turn and push Kurt back against the lockers with a slam and a faint noise of outrage.

But he didn't push away even though Blaine wasn't holding him tight enough to cage him completely, just fingers spread over his hip and one hand pressed to the locker beside his head, crowding in closer and Kurt was just looking at him. Looking at him through thick, dark lashes and biting his lip.

He made a hushed, breathy noise, eyes flickering from Blaine's mouth to his eyes and his own mouth fell open slightly, hanging wide and red and one hand was fisting into the leather of Blaine's jacket, clutching him.

"My ass is not for staring at," Kurt said eventually, every word harsh and raw and if Blaine wasn't inches away from the hot press of his body, the dark dilation of his pupils, then he would have flinched from the venom in his tone.

"No."

His voice was harder, rougher than he'd expected. Cracking on the quiet word enough to make Kurt's eyes snap back towards his, pinning him clear and bright as Blaine shifted his body closer until Kurt was backed fully against the locket doors, legs firm against Blaine's thigh as he pushed against them, between them.

"No, it's not."

His fingers loosened their grip, taking their time and trailing lazily down the raised seam of his pants. Kurt was breathing harder, fingers still clutching desperately at Blaine's sleeve and tugging him so close that Blaine could feel their chests touch with every breath.

He could feel the pounding of Kurt's heart against his own.

Blaine's fingers straightened, hand curving along the swell of muscle, palm pressing.

Kurt made a noise, little more than a whimper and something inside Blaine flared. His fingertips dug deep, squeezing and lifting until Kurt's thigh was hitched around his waist, one hand holding his ass tight and hoisting him until Blaine had him pinned by his hips, slotting them together.

Kurt let out a shuddering breath, one hand flying into Blaine's hair to tug him closer until they were nose to nose.

"I hate you," he forced out, voice broken and desperate.

"Don't worry, Hummel," Blaine said, squeezing his fingers deeper into the firm swell of his ass and nudging one thigh harder between his legs until Kurt groaned helplessly, "I hate you too."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, their noses pressed together until they were panting into the space between their lips.

Blaine heard the voices too late, his ears buzzing with Kurt's breathing and a delicious roaring in his brain that seemed to burn down his spine, and he didn't notice the football team rounding the corner, lugging sacks of balls and led by Finn and Puck until Kurt's hands were shoving at his shoulders and forcing him away.

"Kurt?"

Kurt's eyes were wide and fixed, frozen and terrified on Blaine's face as he took a step away, and he was turning to look at his brother and swallowing, clutching his bag to his chest.

He looked scared.

And he hadn't looked scared when Blaine had him pressed against the wall, not even slightly. He'd looked angry, but he'd been calm. He'd been grounded and sure, and now Blaine could see the shake in his fingers as he gripped at the leather strap like it would save him.

Then his jaw was set and his chin raised, eyes fading to their usual blue but there was an eerie blankness in his stare, like a curtain had fallen over his face.

"Kurt?" Finn insisted, moving closer with confusion etching across his already confused face, "Are you…Is everything alright?"

Kurt gave him a wan smile, back snapping ramrod straight as he stepped towards the football team.

"Of course Finn, I'm fine. There's no need to jump in and try to protect my virtue every thirty seconds."

Blaine didn't know why he said it, but there was a burning curiosity coupled with a burdening irritation at the interruption and the words were out of his mouth before he could regret them.

"Little late for that," he snorted, rocking back on his heels.

Kurt flushed, burning red up his throat and his eyes flashed hard as he looked at Blaine and just for a moment he looked so alive.

"What did you say?"

"I said," Blaine said, raising his voice and unable to stop the grin at the look of fury on Kurt's face, "It's a little late for him to be defending your virtue when I'm guessing you've probably had at least half of the football team by now."

He shouldn't have been jealous of the way Finn's arm's caught around Kurt's waist, holding him struggling and wild as Kurt clawed in Blaine's direction, dropping his bag with a shriek of anger and leaping at him.

He shouldn't have been turned on by the feral snarl that twisted across Kurt's pretty face, the way his skin blazed hot and red as he struggled against Finn's arms.

"Kurt, Kurt! Stop…Kurt, just – Puck!"

Blaine took a step back as Finn's grip loosened, Kurt scratching at his hands.

But then Puck was there, trapping Kurt in his arms and steering him backwards, leaving Blaine faced with Finn who loomed over him.

"What…what the hell man?"

Blaine shrugged because honestly, how did he tell Finn Hudson that his brother somehow became almost forcefully attractive whenever Blaine managed to piss him off and that maybe, just maybe, he thought as he watched Kurt scoop up his bag and flounce down the corridor with a flick of his hair, this bet wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

Kurt fumed silently for the rest of his lesson, slipping in late to sit beside Rachel and spend the next forty minutes digging the tip of his pen deep into the wood of his desk and sighing exasperatedly until she jabbed him in the arm and gave him an incredulous look.

"What?" he snapped, harder than he meant but he just couldn't help it.

Blaine got under his skin and infuriated him and Kurt hated it; hated the sudden burn of feelings he got when he caught Blaine looking at him, or when their fingers brushed. He hated the part of him that had screamed when Blaine touched him, the way his fingers mapped hot across Kurt's skin and made him breathless and helpless.

He hated the way he'd wanted to yank Blaine's face closer and kiss him, hard and rough and filthy until they were both panting and desperate.

Kurt had forgotten what it was like to feel this much.

But the worst part was that Blaine knew. He'd seen it slip in Kurt's eyes, seen him test and break when he made some lewd comment and Kurt had known exactly what he was doing. He was trying to prove a point, to get a rise out of him for some perverted sense of self-satisfaction at knowing how he made Kurt feel.

"Kurt?"

"If you so much as mention Anderson then so help me Rachel, I will –"

"I wasn't! Well…I wasn't really! I was just going to ask…how you were?"

Kurt sighed and looked up from the deep blue ridges in the table top, and she was smiling at him kindly, sympathetically.

She felt sorry for him.

Kurt blushed, suddenly embarrassed and ducked his head back down to stare at the ceaseless movements of his pen nib against the wood, because if only she knew.

Here Rachel was feeling bad for him because Blaine was harassing his every movement and here Kurt was, still half hard and jittery, nails digging deep into the palm of his hand to release some sort of frustration and all he could feel was the movement of Blaine's thighs pressing between his own, his hand rubbing down to squeeze and dig and clutch their bodies closer together.

She was still staring at him.

"I'm fine Rach. Do you need me to verbalise my mental list of everything that is wrong with the existence of Blaine Anderson to prove it?"

"Is it alphabetical or chronological?" she said seriously, and Kurt bit back his laughter into his hand until they were stifling giggles that had the teacher turning to glare, and Kurt was fine.

Until he left the room, and Rachel's unnecessary obsession of packing away her books in ascending size order had them drifting into the hall after the stragglers, joining the back of the crowd accumulating there.

"What's going on?" Rachel half shouted, straining on tiptoes until Kurt rolled his eyes and pointed towards the top of Finn's head, elbowing through the crowd with his default glare.

"Finn what –"

"Say that again Karofsky, I fucking dare you. Or don't you remember who put you in the hospital last year?"

There was an arm across Kurt's chest, Finn shaking his head and pushing him backwards as Kurt stretched to see around him.

It was Blaine.

One hand pinned to Karofsky's throat, the other drawn back in a clenched fist as his fingers squeezed against the other boy's reddening neck.

"Say. It. Again."

Kurt couldn't see his face, just the ripple of his arm and the way his shirt stretched across his back, his jacket abandoned in a heap with his bag.

He could just see the fear in Karofsky's face and it should have been ridiculous, comical even; Blaine was half his size on a good day.

But Kurt had been so fixated on how irritating Blaine was, his persistent presence something like a fly that he wanted to swat, that he'd forgotten just who Blaine was. He was a criminal. He had more black marks on his record than Kurt knew how to count and he was the sole reason Karofsky couldn't play football anymore.

Kurt barely had time to register the swing of Blaine's fist before it collided with the side of Karofsky's face with a sickening crunch, hands flying up to cover his gasp as the boy swayed and stumbled to the side, rocking back against the lockers with a crash that made the crowd flinch.

Blaine spun, fixing them with dark eyes and Kurt couldn't stop his automatic step forwards.

"Kurt, no."

"Blaine?"

Kurt had never seen him like this, never so tightly coiled with rage he looked like he could burst. He seemed bigger than normal, somehow.

Blaine looked at him and froze for a second too long.

"Blaine!"

Karofsky was on Blaine's back, one arm around his neck and twisting him to the side.

"Finn, do something," Kurt said, whacking his fist into Finn's arm until he moved, grabbing Puck's arm and dragging him forwards.

But Blaine had wriggled free, backing away until he hit the lockers with a start and rubbing a hand through his hair. Finn caught Karofsky's arm as Puck stood in front of Blaine, blocking them. He held one hand out towards Blaine as though to touch his shoulder, but Blaine was backing away, seizing his bag from the floor and storming wordlessly through the crowd without a backwards glance, pushing hard past Kurt without looking at him and vanishing through the double doors into the sun.

"What on earth was that about?" Rachel said in a hushed whisper at his elbow and Kurt shrugged, watching Finn with a questioning look as he left Karofsky with Puck and returned to their side.

"Finn?"

"Karofsky…" he paused, giving Kurt a look before he continued, "He called Kurt a whore."

"Do you want to skip the preliminary greetings and move straight on to the inevitable fuck yous?" Kurt said without looking up from his text book, Blaine's scent hitting his nostrils before he had time to speak.

Autumn and cinnamon and boy and it was still achingly delicious.

"Go out with me."

"Oh so we're back to that," Kurt sighed, closing the locker and heading down the hall, "The answer is still no."

"Oh come on," Blaine said from his shoulder and Kurt could hear the smile in his voice, "Live a little. What's the point in you being popular if you can't do what you want?"

"Please, what on earth makes you think that you would be something I want, popularity or no?"

Blaine shrugged, moving in front of him to walk backwards, mirroring Kurt's every step.

"Well from what I remember you were a little more than agreeable last week in this very hallway."

Kurt blushed furiously, staring at the ground and the ridiculous synchronised swing of their shoes together.

"Why did you punch Karofsky?"

He regretted asking immediately, from the sudden flare of discomfort on Blaine's face, the way he dropped his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. The way he stopped smiling.

"Finn said he called me a whore."

They'd stopped walking now, pausing by the wall and Kurt stared out of the window into the parking lot at the leaves in the sun, with Blaine silent beside him.

"Yeah. He did."

"Well so did you, in case you had forgotten that part of the hallway situation."

Blaine fell back against the window and closed his eyes, breathing out slow and deep through his nose and dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the curls before he spoke. His eyes closed, head moving back against the glass until the sunlight was filtering through his hair, dancing across his skin.

"Because…Because I was joking. I was doing it to piss you off and he… he wasn't. And… look I don't know, okay? I don't know."

He wasn't looking at Kurt, staring straight down the hall instead and if Kurt didn't know any better he'd say there was a blush tinting Blaine's face beneath the sun-patterned skin.

Kurt swallowed, clutched at his bag and sighed and wished he could regret what he was about to do.

"You can pick me up after Cheerios practice tomorrow."

"What?"

"I get to choose where we go, and I have to be home by eight."

"What?"

Kurt made an exasperated noise but Blaine was just staring at him.

"What have I grown an extra head? It's a date you jackass. Just one and I'll probably leave it hating you more than I already do."

Blaine cocked his head in consideration, a slight grin quirking the corner of his lips.

"Did you just ask me out?"

"What? No I… no it was a yes to your… I didn't I was just agreeing to –"

"You just asked me out!"

"Oh fuck off!"

And he turned, whacking his bag against Blaine's legs as he stalked past him to class, the sound of Blaine's laughter ringing in his ears the whole way there.