"So Q, I have three things on my mind right now," Blaine said, ignoring the glare from the librarian as he dropped his bag on the table beside her and swung a chair around to straddle it. She glanced up from her book and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm torn somewhere between fucking jubilance and arrogance that I've actually managed to land a date with Hummel tonight, and wanting to help you actually get somewhere with Berry because hey, we're in this together."

Quinn made a faint noise of agreement, turning back to her book.

"Which brings me onto the third thing, what the fuck are you reading and why on earth did I find you in the fucking library, of all places?"

Quinn's gaze snapped towards his, her cheeks reddening.

"Are you blushing, Fabray?"

"No!"

She closed the book and slid it into her bag before Blaine could blink, hiding her red face behind an angry glare.

"So where are you taking Hummel?"

"Don't change the subject Q, was that a book about Barbra Streisand? I didn't even know you knew who she was!"

Quinn cleared her throat loudly and glared, earning them another sharp look from the librarian in the corner.

"Blaine, drop it."

He held up his hands in mock defence.

"Alright!"

They were silent for a moment, Blaine digging out a pen to carve rough spirals into the surface of the desk before he answered.

"Hummel wants to go to the Butterfly Diner."

Quinn snorted, "Isn't that the default McKinley football team hang-out? And you're down with that?"

He dug the pen into the wood deeper, gouging out splinters and staining them inky blue.

"What fucking choice do I have? He agreed because he got to choose where. I'll pick him up after practice, I'll be the perfect fucking gentleman, I'll be charming and polite and I'll kiss him goodbye –"

Quinn raised an eyebrow but he ignored her and carried on.

" –And next week I'll take him to Scandals, get him drunk and fuck him in the toilets. And then this is over and I never have to look at his fucking face again."

"Except every day for the rest of the year."

"Lucky me," he grunted, scratching the pen harder until the librarian cleared her throat and sent him a pointed look. Blaine scowled at the wood.

"He gets the fucking of his life and what, you get Sebastian?"

"I don't just get Seb. I get to win."

"So that's all that this is about? Winning?"

Blaine frowned up at her, spinning the pen between his fingers, "Of course. What else?"

Quinn shrugged and opened her mouth, whatever she was going to say lost in the screech of the bell and suddenly her back straightened and eyes glanced towards the door, mouth dropping closed.

"What –" Blaine turned to follow her line of sight and fell quiet.

Rachel Berry had pushed her way into the library; nose buried in a book the exact carbon copy of the one Quinn had hidden in her bag and made her way over to a table in the corner.

"Q –"

"Oh fuck off," she said, bending to pick up her bag and swing it onto her shoulder, standing and weaving between tables to drop into the chair beside Rachel.

Quinn swung her legs up onto the table, crossing one foot over the other and rocking back on two legs with a grin at the shocked girl next to her.

"So, Barbra Streisand…" Blaine heard her murmur, fighting back a grin as he lit a cigarette and waiting for the outraged screech of the librarian, descending upon him like a storm with a heavy folder whacked across his shoulders and bony hands pushing him out the door.

�

�

"Babe, tell me it's not true."

Kurt sighed and shifted his grip on Santana's ankles, holding her tighter as she shouted down from where she stood on his shoulders, golden legs gleaming in the sun.

"It's not true," he said, pinching the skin of her ankle as she knocked her foot into the side of his head.

"Fuck off, of course it's true. I can't believe this."

Kurt ignored her, focusing on the strain and ache of his shoulders, the damp shirt sticking to his back and the scream of muscle in his arms.

"I just wanted him to stop harassing me, San. That's all. I just wanted to shut him up."

He caught her by the waist as she dropped back down to the grass, spinning in his arms and catching his shoulders to look him deep in the eyes.

"Look, Kurt," He looked up to meet her stare as she held his face with her hands, "I'm just…I'm just looking out for you here."

"I don't need –"

She pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shut the fuck up and let me talk, Princess. You do need someone to look after you. I know you take some sort of weird-ass pride in being the untouchable virgin queen of McKinley, but heaven knows the aura of innocence that surrounds you, however bitchy you might be, is gonna be drawing guys like Anderson to you like a fucking beacon. It's like you're a lighthouse and they're a boat lost at sea. Like you're the honey and they're a fucking swarm of bees. Like you're the catnip and they're –"

"Alright!" He pushed her away with an exasperated laugh, "Enough with the pheromone metaphors, I fucking get it!"

She rolled her shoulders back and bent to touch her toes, looking up at him from under her bobbing pony tail.

"People like Anderson like to fuck virgins, that's all I'm saying. That's all this is to him. God knows why he's chosen you, but he's going to fuck you and leave you. And then how the fuck do you think you're going to be crowned Prom King, with that hanging over your head?"

"What makes you think I want to be crowned Prom King. That's eight months away San, I hadn't even –"

"Of course you want to be Prom King," she said, cutting him off and standing, stretching her arms up until the bones clicked and she gave a contented sigh, "Everyone at this school wants to be royalty."

Kurt folded his arms tightly over his chest, raising his face to catch the light breeze blowing across the field and feel the sun on his face.

"Yeah."

The wind was loud in the trees, the laughing of the Cheerios and Santana's voice fading into the background and there was a strange rumbling growing under the buzz of voices but Kurt's mind was drowning it out.

He hadn't thought of that.

He'd been so caught up in how annoying Blaine was, how damaging it was to talk to him and how he was confusing and irritating and ridiculous.

He'd been distracted by how Blaine felt when he pressed up against him, warm and hot and burning through Kurt's senses until he could see him even with his eyes closed, taste him even when he held his breath.

But Kurt had forgotten to wonder why Blaine had taken an interest in him, of all people, however unwanted it might be.

Something angry stabbed through his chest at the thought of Blaine fucking him and vanishing the next day and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Kurt swallowed hard.

The rumbling noise was growing louder and Kurt could feel the floor thrumming under his feet. He turned, frowning and his heart leapt into his throat as he grasped Santana around the waist and swung her out of the way, a black bike thundering across the grass she'd been occupying and coming to a grinding halt a few feet away.

Blaine pulled off his helmet and shook his hair back, running a hand through the messy curls and turning to grin at the scattered cheerleaders before looking at Kurt.

"I know you said after practice, but I'm early."

Kurt could feel Santana looking at him, but his cheeks were burning red and Blaine was raking his eyes slowly up from the ground, up Kurt's legs and chest, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes reached Kurt's face.

He grinned.

Kurt blushed even harder, his skin sticky and clammy like Blaine was in the heat and the sun, spreading and wrapping around him until he couldn't breathe and his feet were leaden weights against the grass. Coach Sylvester was screaming something across the grass and cheerleaders were scattering and flinching away from her.

Santana jabbed him hard in the ribs.

"I need to shower," Kurt muttered, staring at the ground and shifting uncomfortably inside his sweaty shirt, feeling his hair fall over his forehead, limp and useless. There was an unfamiliar surge of insecurity clouding his mind and his hands gripped his elbows tightly as Blaine looked at him and nodded.

Kurt half ran towards the locker rooms, fighting a sudden drop in confidence that he hadn't felt for years and how did Blaine manage to make him feel this way?

He was the only one who had ever managed to squeeze through the cracks in Kurt's popularity, settling himself among the chinks of his armour until they spread and shattered completely and Kurt was clinging to the fabric of his Cheerio shirt as though it could save him.

The water fell with cool fingers over Kurt's skin, sliding down where he was burning hot and sweating, rubbing traces of mud and grass from his fingers and bruised feet until he felt a little more human. He rinsed off his uniform and hung it over the bench to dry, reaching for his shower gel as the steam heated up into clouds around him.

He could still feel Blaine's eyes burning into him, the way they had as he left the field, boring into his back like bullets and he could see them, fierce and dark and drawing lazily up his body as he'd stood in front of him.

Kurt rubbed soap between his fingers until it bubbled, letting it slip and foam up his arms as he thought about the way Blaine looked at him, with such ferocious intensity that Kurt could hardly stand it. The way his eyes seemed to darken and flame, pupils dilating and Kurt's own eyes fell shut, head dropping backwards until the water pounded down against his throat.

He could see Blaine's eyes, hot and brown in front of his face and inches from his own, and there was a hand sliding down his hip, lost in the caress of the water to tighten around his thigh. There was a leg pushing hard between his own, the dig of a metal locker against his back as Blaine's breath ghosted over the wet skin of his neck, somewhere in the steam.

Kurt had locked those memories away into a tiny section of his mind, hiding behind uniforms and sometimes during the darkest hours of sleep they would wake him up until he screamed into his pillow in frustration, ignoring the hardness between his legs until his alarm blared beside his head.

But no one had ever touched him like that, and just for a moment it didn't matter that Blaine was everything he hated in a person and it didn't matter that he was on the bottom of the social scale when it came to people Kurt should be seen associating with, because Blaine's hands were grasping and playing practiced fingers over his skin and making him want and need and throb with a wanton desperation he'd never felt before.

Kurt's fingers trembled, dropping the bottle to bounce into the corner as his hands slid soapy bubbles over his collarbone and down, flat across his hipbones to where his cock was hard and aching, jutting up against his stomach.

He trailed his nails lightly down his length, gasping and arm flying forwards to prop against the wall as his grip tightened. His hand was slick with soap and vanilla scented shower gel, sliding fast and smooth as he jerked himself harder under the hot water, muffling his cries into the crook of his own elbow.

But it wasn't his own hand and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out Blaine's face but he was smiling and leaning closer, lips against the back of Kurt's neck as his own fingers danced around his waist, covering Kurt's own and pushing them away until a hand that was hotter and rougher, harder than what he was used to was working fast up his cock. There was a firm body behind his own, pushing against Kurt's skin until he was caught between the cool of the tiles and flaming skin and fingers.

Kurt whimpered against his arm, head spinning with heat and hands and wet, burning steam and Blaine was imprinted against every inch of his skin, fingertips and lips digging into the corners of his skin and mind until Kurt couldn't breathe and his eyes rolled back, and he came with a gasping shout into the stream of water.

He panted against his arm, knees trembling and every droplet of water down his back was heavy and dragged down his spine, slow and sluggish until Kurt stepped back and pushed his hair back over his forehead.

Kurt was dizzy and breathless, shaking as he fumbled his way across the slippery tiles to wrap a towel around his waist and settle on the bench beside his uniform, fingers clinging to the edge of the seat as the room spun with steam and his eyes blurred.

He didn't know why this was any different. Kurt had had hundreds of boys stare at him, even half of the football team who swore blind they were straight as an arrow, he would catch them staring when he bent over or rolled his hips as he danced during performances. And it meant nothing, not really. It was a thrill, it was comforting and familiar and expected.

Attention came with the uniform and the popularity and Kurt wouldn't have it any other way, and if it had ever been suggested that Blaine Anderson could be the one to tear that all down he would have laughed.

But having boys watch the way you spread your legs is different to having one spread them for you, having someone else's hands move over your skin to rub and bend you in ways you didn't know.

And Kurt felt his face heat up with embarrassment as he realised that he wanted Blaine, he wanted him more than he'd ever wanted anything. He hated him and wanted him in filthy, desperate, awful ways that sent a surge of shame through him until he was as red as the uniform beside him.

And he knew Blaine could give him that, he could give him everything he wanted. But it would ruin everything Kurt had ever worked for.

So Kurt did the only thing he knew how to do and pulled the clean, dry uniform back on, fitting into the worn, comfortable fabric like a second skin. He pulled the water from his locker and drank until his cheeks faded back to their usual complexion, pushing back his wet hair and spraying until it was damp and fluffing into its usual position and there was nothing more than a few drops of water down his collar to remind him of the shower.

Kurt gritted his teeth and stuck out his chin, clenching his jaw.

"You can do this."

His reflection looked back, haughty and proud and the face that Kurt knew well and he walked from the room and back into the sun.

He could see Blaine, leaning against his bike with his usual trail of smoke and Santana's golden skin stretched along the wall beside him, tilting her head and leaning in close.

"San," Kurt said as he approached, "What the fuck are you doing?"

She moved towards him, waving a tiny plastic bag between her fingers for a second before slipping it down her top and into her bra and Kurt rolled his eyes because of course Blaine would sell his best friend drugs right before their date.

Santana pressed a lipstick kiss to Kurt's cheek with a smack and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Listen, Anderson. I'm only letting Baby Gay here go on a date with you so you stop harassing him and pissing everybody off, okay? After this you'll leave him alone and we'll all go our separate ways except when I come to you for top quality weed, okay? Now have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She turned to Kurt and pulled him into a hug, whispering into his ear.

"Remember what I told you Hummel. Everything has a price."

Something bitter resonated in her voice and Kurt frowned as he pulled away, catching the flicker of sadness in her eyes for just a moment before she shook her head and turned away, sashaying across the field with her skirt flicking below her ass and suddenly they were alone.

Kurt turned back to Blaine, trying not to watch the movement of his lips over the end of the cigarette, the way the pursed and parted and the rise and fall of his throat as he breathed a slow grey stream into the air. His sunglasses hooked low into the V-neck of his t-shirt, dipping down until Kurt could see a flash of dark chest hair across golden skin.

He caught his breath and fixed his eyes hard on Blaine's smirking face.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

His voice was rough and thick with smoke, trickles slipping past his lips with each word as he nodded towards the bike.

"Oh fuck no. You must be high as fuck if you think I'm straddling that piece of shit."

Blaine rolled his eyes and scoffed, flicking the butt to the ground in a shower of sparks.

"Oh grow the fuck up, Hummel. It's just a bike and I'm sure that straddling is no problem for you."

"It's not the straddling I care about, Anderson. It's the fucking junk heap you expect me to ride to my death."

Blaine sneered and seized his hips and dragging Kurt forwards until he stumbled against Blaine's knees.

"Come on," he said, voice suddenly throaty and eyes huge as he stared up from Kurt's waist level, sliding his hands around and under his shirt to tickle against his back, "I'll be right there with you."

"Like that's a comfort," Kurt said, his voice faltering slightly, resolve weakening with every brush of Blaine's fingers against the base of his spine. Blaine shrugged.

"If I die," Kurt tried to ignore the hitch of his breath with every word, "My dad has a shotgun."

Blaine's hands pushed insistently against his back until they were so close his knees dug into Kurt's thighs and his breath was leaving warm pressure through the shirt over his stomach.

"Your dad doesn't scare me," he breathed, barely more than a growl, "Neither does Santana. Or those fucking football players or that brick wall you call a brother. And you know what, Hummel?"

His mouth moved closer, teeth nipping at the waistband of Kurt's pants until his heart was jolting hard inside his chest, hands hanging limply by his side. Kurt shook his head, teeth digging hard into his lip and hardly daring to make a noise.

"You don't scare me either."

Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt's stomach over his layers of clothes, letting his mouth linger there, open and wet against the uniform.

"Now get on the fucking bike."

Kurt nodded and Blaine turned away, swinging his legs back over and pulling a helmet over his head without a backwards glance. Kurt gritted his teeth, settling cautiously on the seat behind Blaine until the boy looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

"Come on Hummel, I'm not going to bite. Unless of course –"

"Shut up, Anderson."

"You need to move in closer."

Kurt wriggled nearer, looping his arms loosely around Blaine's waist. Blaine caught his wrists and dragged him closer, until their bodies were slotted together and Blaine's ass was pushed back against Kurt's crotch, his thighs clamping around Blaine's and fingers fisting automatically into the leather of his jacket.

"Don't let go," he muttered, revving the bike and Kurt squeaked as it rumbled into life beneath them, pressing his face against Blaine's back automatically as he wrenched the bike around and tore it across the grass.

There was wind blowing cold against the bare skin of Kurt's neck, ripping through his hair as they screamed from the school gates and out onto the main road, and he held his face against the warm leather of Blaine's jacket, breathing in the deep scent of smoke and sun and autumn, the warm and spicy aroma that he seemed to exclude. Kurt shifted his arms beneath Blaine's jacket, slipping them beneath the leather to hook around his waist until he could feel the warm shift of muscle as Blaine leaned forwards, guiding the bike through cars.

Kurt leaned in closer until he felt his breathing slow and when his face was against Blaine's back, nose pressed against the juncture of his neck he could almost ignore the blur of the world past them. Blaine's neck was warm and soft and his skin smelled like cinnamon, and Kurt couldn't help but brush his nose across it, eyes squeezed shut and the wind whipping through his hair and just breathe.

He suddenly felt light, lighter than he had for longer than he could remember.

Like he was flying.

Kurt was almost sad when they slowed outside the Butterfly Diner and Blaine pulled the bike to a stop, and he hadn't been here for years. Not since his mother died and when Blaine asked him where they were going it was the first place that popped into his mind.

"Come on Hummel, let's get this over with."

"You know, I'm getting incredibly mixed vibes from you, Anderson," Kurt said as they walked through the chiming door and settled into opposite each other, "If neither of us actually want to be here then why are we even here?"

Blaine looked down at the table, shrugging off his jacket until he was left in a thin dark shirt and the sun glanced off his curls as he turned his head towards the window.

"Anderson?"

Blaine opened his mouth to speak as a waitress appeared at his elbow, young and smiling with a notepad in her hand.

"What will it be, boys?"

Blaine flinched and scowled, picking at the chipped surface of the table until she turned to Kurt with a questioning face.

"I'll have an um…ice cream sundae."

"Chocolate or strawberry?"

"Strawberry. And he'll have the chocolate one," Kurt said, kicking Blaine's ankle under the table until he looked up and nodded at the waitress, who backed away smiling.

"Why does it matter anyway, Hummel. You're only here because you want me to fuck off."

He was picking sullenly at the surface like a child, bottom lip stuck out in a moody pout and a hard crease between his eyebrows. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"No…I. Um…It's not just to…because of that."

Blaine quirked an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk flitting across his face.

"Are you stuttering, Hummel?"

Kurt scowled and kicked at his ankle again, and Blaine stuck his tongue out and leaned forwards, propping his chin on his hand.

"So tell me, why are you here?"

"You beat up Karofsky…for no reason. For me."

"And what, this is an obligatory date? Because you think you owe it to me?"

"No! No…it's a…thank you. Because I don't know why you did it, but you did. And I've never had someone defend my honour before, not like that. Not when they didn't have to."

Blaine caught his eye and smiled, something real and genuine. Simple and honest and there were flecks of sunlight shining in his eyes as he ducked his head when Kurt smiled back.

"It was my pleasure."

Their hands were inches away from each other, fingers within millimetres where they lay across the table top and Kurt's were itching to shift forwards and brush against Blaine's. He felt his hand twitch.

"Two ice cream sundaes!"

Blaine jumped, back straightening and jaw setting into a hard line as he moved backwards, Kurt mirroring him until they were still and staring as the waitress placed two desserts between them.

Kurt scrambled for his ice cream, one hand clutching the wet glass while the other spun a spoon through the swirl of whipped cream.

It was honest, and it was fragile.

"So," Blaine said eventually, licking cream from his spoon with long, lewd motions, "What do normal first dates entail?"

Kurt laughed, sucking strawberry sauce into his mouth and suddenly the air was light again, and he was just a boy on his first date.

"I think the participants normally have to actually like each other," he said with a grin.

"Damn. So we're already off to a failing start," Blaine teased, "I guess it can only get better."

Kurt laughed and Blaine fixed him with a strange expression.

"What?"

"I've…I've never seen you laugh before."

Kurt blushed and pressed his lips together, the laugh dying on his lips as he stirred his ice cream.

"No," Blaine's fingers brushed the back of his hand, rubbing his thumb across Kurt's knuckles, "It's nice."

Kurt smiled, "Apparently you can learn a lot of new things about someone when you're not constantly bombarding them with stupid sexual jokes."

"I'll remember that."

Blaine's fingers skimmed slowly down the back of Kurt's hand, around his wrist and back up to the backs of his fingers until Kurt let his hand fall heavily to the table and Blaine twined their fingers together.

His fingers felt like Kurt hand imagined, soft and strong with rough fingertips that grazed his palm.

If the bell over the door hadn't rung through the otherwise quiet diner, Kurt wouldn't have moved from that spot until the world ended. But there were flashes of red spilling through the room over Blaine's head, laughing and shouting and his heart sunk right to the pit of his stomach.

Kurt jerked his hand from Blaine's, sinking low into the seat and dropping his head into his hands.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Kurt?"

"No."

"Kurt! What are you…"

Finn tailed off as he reached their table, flanked by the football team and stared at Blaine, face twisted in confusion.

"Kurt…what are you doing here with him?"

Kurt opened his mouth, hands clutching the edge of the table in desperation as he stared at his brother.

"Don't worry Hudson," Blaine cut in, his voice hard enough to send an angry chill down Kurt's spine, "I got bored of watching Hummel's ass from across the pitch and decided I wanted to see it in action. I'm not here for any real reason."

Finn frowned, sharing a look at Puck and back towards them.

"Was that a sex comment about my little brother?"

Finn moved forwards, hands balling into fists and Blaine sprung to his feet, knocking the two glass dishes off the table to shatter across the floor, splattering ice cream along the tiles and football player's shoes.

"So what if it was?"

"I'm older than you, Finn," Kurt snapped, his palms pressed to his forehead in exasperation.

"Shut up Kurt, this isn't about you."

Kurt shot him a glare so icy that Finn recoiled slightly and jumped to his feet beside Blaine, grasping his arm as he passed them.

"I'm sorry; I guess I was thrown off by the mention of my name. Come on, Blaine."

Kurt marched from the diner, tugging Blaine behind him and blinking back angry tears at his stupid brother and his ridiculous timing, and at Blaine's awful need to make sexual comments every five seconds and remind Kurt exactly why he hated him. Was it so much to ask to be able to have a nice, peaceful, memorable first date?

He stopped by the bike with a frustrated noise, folding his arms and ducking his head to hide his wet eyelashes. It was growing dark, the sun blinking as it dipped behind the trees and cast golden shadows across the parking lot.

"Kurt –"

"Can you take me home?" he said, cutting Blaine off short and staring hard at a patch of ground until it swam and blurred, "Please?"

Blaine was silent for a moment.

"Sure."

At least as they sped towards the Hummel-Hudson house, Kurt could pretend that it was the wind in his face that tore moisture from his eyes and he slipped from the back of the bike as soon as Blaine ground it to a halt. He paused for a moment beside the bike, clutching at his own arms in some sort of semblance of security as Blaine looked at him, squinting through the dark.

"Goodnight, Blaine."

He turned away, shaking off the hand that Blaine touched against his elbow and not looking back until the front door closed with a click behind him and Kurt heard the bike roar away into the distance.

Blaine wasn't at Kurt's locker the next day, and he ignored the spike of dejection that settled over him, linking arms with Santana as they walked the halls and rolling her eyes when she asked how his "boyloving" went.

"It went nowhere, San. Just like I said. Now can you drop it?"

She shrugged and pulled him down into the seat beside her, filing her nails with a disinterested air and left Kurt to draw absentminded swirls across his page.

He'd worn his clean uniform and it didn't smell like Blaine, and Kurt couldn't turn his face into the collar and breathe in the scent he was longing for.

The class was finally underway, with paper aeroplanes drifting through the air and Mrs Harris straining to shout over the chatter until the door burst open, bouncing on its hinges and crashing against the wall.

Blaine stood in the door way, sunglasses and leather jacket and a shirt with a collar so loose Kurt could see a glimpse of his collarbone. He dipped his glasses down his nose and surveyed the room, catching Kurt's eye before he looked back towards the teacher.

"Blaine…Blaine Anderson?" She said, checking her name list and frowning.

"The one and only."

"I don't think you have ever attended this class."

Blaine shrugged, flashing her a lopsided grin and a lazy wink as he sauntered into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

"I like to keep people on their toes."

He was making a beeline straight for Kurt's desk, dropping his bag onto the one beside it so hard the kid sitting there jumped, face turning as white as a sheet as he looked up at the boy towering over him.

"Move," Blaine grunted, and the boy scrambled from the desk, dragging his belongings onto the next desk over and letting Blaine straddle the chair beside Kurt.

He pulled off his glasses and jacket, shrugging at the wide eyes still turned his way.

Kurt waited until the attention had been called off them before he turned to Blaine with a furious glare, ignoring Santana's amused smirk.

"What the fuck are you doing, Anderson?"

"I want you to go out with me."

Kurt spluttered angrily for a moment, his mouth dropping open and closed before he could manage to form words.

"Are you mentally deficient? We went out yesterday, in case you'd already forgotten. You tried to start a fight with my brother!"

"Your brother is a jackass," Blaine muttered, stabbing his pen into the desk, "But fine, maybe I should have phrased that better, listen carefully. I want you to go out with me, again."

Kurt frowned, shaking his head, "What?"

"I take you out. You. And me. Together, we go out. Somewhere I get to choose, where we won't be interrupted by asshole football players and waitresses with ice cream."

"Seriously? You think I'll agree to that?"

Blaine shrugged, smiling in that infuriating way that left tingles at the base of Kurt's spine

"Why? Don't you trust me?"

Kurt shot him a withering look and turned back to the front, writing nonsense words all over his page in a vague attempt to draw his attention somewhere other than the fingers that scraped lightly across the small of his back, resting hot and heavy over his shirt.

"I'll leave you alone, I promise," Blaine said, his voice low, "Just give me this one chance and then you never have to talk to me again."

Kurt pursed his lips, his back stiff and barely resisted the urge to relax into the soft cup of Blaine's hand.

"Fine."