Kurt gazed around him. He still didn't know what he was doing at the concert. The arena was packed, not a single seat had been left empty, and everywhere he looked, all he could see was fan-crazed men and women of all ages, standing and dancing along to the music pulsating around them. Kurt gazed back to the stage, afraid of missing something and stumbled to the left as an eager fan pushed past him to get closer to the front. He rubbed the side of his arm angrily but let it pass. He was happy with the spot he had.

His fingers played nervously with the VIP pass that he had around his neck. He wasn't even a Blaine Anderson fan, but for the sake of fandoms the world all over and for the sake of his best friend, Mercedes Jones, he had gone. So there he was at a Blaine Anderson concert. He shook his head at his own out-of-character actions. It was all Mercedes' fault, that's who he would put the blame on, yes, Mercedes.

"You go! Go and enjoy," she had said to him with so much scorn that he had to give her a hug. "I'm sick of seeing you moping around here since you broke up with Mark. You need to go out and have a little fun for a change." He had glared at her but had refused to comment. He had tried to pass up the prize to her, but she had a family commitment that she couldn't get out of. In fact, it appeared that none of his close friends could go. Even Finn, who still wouldn't have gone if he was free, was busy due to work.

He had called up the radio station on a whim. He hadn't even known what he was calling for. He had only heard the question, and when the radio announcer had restated what prize the correct caller would get, he had been too busy dialing the station's phone number.

"Rihanna!" He had blurted into the phone, not even knowing if had gotten through to the right section.

"Congratulations! You've just won yourself a VIP pass with a 'Meet and Greet' with Blaine Anderson at his concert one week from today."

Kurt had nearly dropped the phone. At the very least, if he was answering a question about Rihanna, he would have thought he was going to get a prize that had something to do with Rihanna... not Blaine Anderson.

But then, he couldn't stop laughing at himself. Blaine Anderson, the formidable rock star that Mercedes always went on about. Yeah, sure enough, he had heard some of his songs and he could recognize him if someone pointed him out in a magazine, but heck, it wasn't like he swooned over they guy or anything. In reality, he didn't mind the bad boy, rocker image though, and Blaine Anderson sure did have the act down well. But there was just something about Blaine Anderson that put Kurt off. Maybe it was the way he posed in front of the cameras, or the way he answered questions; they always seemed memorized and too politically correct for a so-called rock star. Or maybe it was the way how every week Blaine Anderson was being caught and photographed with a different man or woman.

So maybe Kurt had lied a little. Maybe he was more than aware of Blaine Anderson and had been unconsciously keeping tabs on the guy. It was his secret guilty pleasure. He just wasn't the type of fan though, to go screaming and crying just like the girl who was standing next to him right at that very moment.

His VIP pass had also scored him a spot right down at the front, and he had to admit, he had a great view of the sweaty, muscly, brown haired man only a short distance away. He chided himself and told his alter ego to calm down, because Kurt Hummel was all about control, self-control. But despite himself, Kurt was enjoying it.

It was all an elaborate act. Blaine Anderson really did know how to work an audience and Kurt was more than impressed with the way he successfully flirted, swooned and joked with his fans. He jumped and screamed his lyrics on one side of the stage, bending down and shaking his short mass of curls and allowing drops of his sweat to fall on the flailing guys and girls beneath him. He then ran to the other side of the stage where he pretended to beat out to the drums, his pelvis pulsing in time with the beat and sending the crowd into even more of a furor. At the end of that particular number, he even caught a woman's bra that had been thrown onto stage and cheered, holding it high above his head before he brought it to his nose and breathed deeply.

Urgh! Kurt thought.

He shrugged the sight off and tapped his foot to the next song. It was one that he had heard over the radio before, but unlike the other people watching, he couldn't sing along and dance in time with the lyrics that had been so ingrained into their minds. He did, however, find himself at least mouthing the words in the chorus. Maybe he had remembered more than he realized.

When the concert had finished, he felt relieved to see that he was not the only one by himself. It appeared that Blaine Anderson did not like crowds of people he didn't know and there had only been a small amount of VIP tickets made available.

All of sudden though, Kurt wanted to leave, butterflies crept up into his stomach and his palms begun to sweat. He was sure that every single person in the room was going to realize that he was a fake, that he really wasn't a hardcore fan. If anyone asked him a question, he had no idea who Blaine Anderson really was; where he was from, how he got into the business, or where he was heading to next. And as he listened to the excited guy beside him rattle off all the nonessential information about the man, Kurt realized that this really could become a reality.

But then, it wasn't just that he was worried that he didn't know that much about Blaine Anderson, he was also worried about the actual fact that in a very few short moments, he was going to be standing in front of a person whom he had a very strong physical attraction to. The thought still irked him. He was better than that. It was the quiet, studious, intellectual types that Kurt was attracted to. Or so he tried to tell himself.

They paused for several moments in an empty corridor and his eyes wandered to the plain wooden noticeboard where an advertisement caught his eye. He quickly reached out and snatched the small rectangular piece of shiny paper he had seen and folded it into his pocket while a small group of other fans left the room they were waiting outside of. Their voices were high pitched and excited at meeting their idol and their ruckus only made Kurt feel worse.

He swallowed deeply as they entered the room. It was filled with important people, or people pretending they were important. He eyes scanned the small space expectantly and he sucked in his breath, because there he was, standing only a short distance away; Blaine Anderson aka Sex God Rock Star. Kurt had to take a step back and look the other way because he was completely unprepared for the reaction his body was having at seeing the man close up.

Blaine Anderson was a hunk. His legs were clad in dark black jeans, his chest tightly covered with a dark shirt, and a shiny leather jacket that had all been strategically placed on him to help create his bad boy image. He stood slightly away from his fans and made small talk that was polite but distant before he signed his autograph and posed suggestively, and sometimes luridly, for photographs. It didn't seem to bother the young ladies though. They giggled stupidly and Kurt couldn't help but roll his eyes, could they be anymore hopeless? But Kurt was quick to realize that he was just as hopeless because now it was his turn, and he had just been rendered speechless because Blaine Anderson was standing directly in front of him, looking at him.

Blaine Anderson's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and they quickly flicked up and down Kurt's body. Never before had Kurt felt so small and useless. He didn't speak but pulled the glossy flier out from the back pocket of his jeans and held it out to him. He regretted the act immediately. Everyone else had brought along posters, or a shirt, or a CD, or one of his fan books for him to sign, not some flimsy piece of paper that they had just found attached to a noticeboard outside of the room. He noted how Blaine Anderson, the rock star, stopped and just stared at the creased piece of paper.

Oh, holy crap! Kurt exclaimed to himself. This was it. This would be the moment that he would get scorned at, bullied in front of all these people and thrown out. Kurt edged away afraid, afraid of what Blaine Anderson was going to say to him.

"So, man," Blaine Anderson began, his voice as smooth as sex, "who do you want me to make it out to." He gave such a big, endearing and unexpected smile that Kurt believed his brain melted on the spot. His knees went weak at the sound of his voice and his jaw dropped at the words Blaine Anderson had just spoken.

"I..I.." Kurt stammered. "Kurt Hummel," he managed with a forced, shaky smile. They stared at each other a moment, sizing each other up, making assumptions, drawing conclusions but both slightly taken aback by what they saw there.

"Nice," Blaine nodded, and Kurt wanted so much to believe that it was more than just his name that he was saying 'nice' too. Blaine's pen swiveled over the back of the glossy paper, a slight, pensive thought on his face but Kurt hardly noticed, his legs still shaking from the intense exchange they had just had.

"So, did you enjoy the show?"

"Umm..." Kurt could only nod.

"Would you like a photo?"

"Urr." It was as if Kurt's brain had been sucked out of his head. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak.

"Well, it was great meeting you, Kurt Hummel," Blaine told him when he realized he wasn't going to get anything else out of Kurt. Blaine Anderson extended his hand towards him but Kurt didn't even realize for a moment until Blaine chuckled.

"Oh!" Kurt hurriedly took his hand in his and their eyes met fiercely once again.

Oh. My. God! Kurt thought, struggling to keep his brain working. I'm touching Blaine Anderson!!!

He managed to regain his composure. "Yes, it was great to meet you too," and somehow, somehow Kurt didn't stutter this time.

"Yes, indeed it was."

They held onto each other's hand for another unnecessary couple of seconds, locked in the power of each other's gaze. But then, a tall man with wavy hair suddenly called out to Blaine, and just like that, the spell that had brought them together was broken, and Blaine Anderson turned away and moved to another part of the room. Kurt stared off after him in a daze but the delighted squeals of the other fans shocked him out of it. He slapped himself on the forehead. How could he, of all people, have behaved in such a pathetic manner? A sigh escaped his lips and he sauntered towards the door. The sooner he got out of there, the better.

The corridor was much cooler than the room, so much so that he shuddered slightly when he left. He hadn't realized how cold it was before, but maybe that was because he hadn't been sweating so profusely when he had been waiting outside. He stared one last time at the piece of paper and then swore to himself. He had been so enamored and captivated by Blaine Anderson, he had forgotten to get a signature for Mercedes as well. Could he go back in? He swiveled on his feet. Heck, getting thrown out now wouldn't matter, not after the way he had just behaved.

He collided with several people on their way out and managed to push past them. The room was nearly empty now and Blaine Anderson was at the back of the room, his bodyguard in tow. Kurt watched him for a second, willing himself to be able to go through this second conversation without making a fool of himself. But watching the man, Kurt realized it was going to be hard. Blaine Anderson's voice was still smooth, his body still on fire, and damn, like how the hell did he get into those damn jeans? With such a round luscious ass like that, curved to just the right amount of...

"See something you like?" Blaine asked over his shoulder.

Kurt's train of thought was immediately cut off. "Oh! I was just wondering how you got that fine ass of yours into those tight jeans, that's all." He slammed his hand over his mouth and froze, horrified. He was sure that if the Gods had been paying attention he would have been hit by a lightning strike for that one. Had he really just said that to Blaine Anderson, and in front of Blaine Anderson's people?

Horrified, he tried to avoid Blaine's stare. "I'm sorry," Kurt mumbled. "I'll...I'll just go." He started to turn.

"Don't," Blaine ordered, an amused, almost sinister smile pulling at the side of his mouth.

Kurt stopped and another uncomfortable silence fell between them until Blaine Anderson coughed and cleared his throat. "So, why did you come back in here?"

"My friend," and then to his horror he stared at the now crumpled piece of paper that Blaine had only just signed in his hand. Really, could the evening get any more mortifying? He blushed again, this time much more significantly than before and floundered on the spot, but somehow, he squared his shoulders and decided to continue. He had to do this for Mercedes or she would never speak to him again. "She would really love a signature too."

Blaine laughed, noticing the piece of paper as well, and to Kurt's relief, instead of being insulted, he moved over to the small table at the top of the room where he proceeded to pick up one of the professional photographs of himself. "What's her name?"

"Mercedes."

Blaine quickly scribbled a message on the front of the photo and passed it back to him. There was a gleam in his eye and Kurt would be damn if it didn't make him even hotter. "I'll tell my friend how hot you were," Kurt hit his head with his palm and Blaine chuckled once again. "I mean, how friendly you were." He didn't think it was possible, but yes, he had in fact made a complete fool of himself three times in a row in front of Blaine Anderson.

He turned quickly and practically ran to the door. He needed air. Never before had he acted like such an idiot. He glanced at the photo that Blaine Anderson had signed when he reached the corridor, and nearly choked when he read what he had just written. Kurt came to a complete stop and held the piece of paper close to his face just to be sure that he had read it correctly.

Dear Mercedes, tell your friend, Mr. Kurt Hummel: 'He has a fine ass too.'

No! That cunning, sexy deviant! Wait? What? Was he flirting with him? Nooooooooo.

Kurt leaned against the wall beside him. Only in his wildest fantasies would Blaine Anderson be flirting with him. Blaine Anderson was the kind of man that could get any type of sexy man or woman he wanted. Kurt laughed to himself, at his idiocy, and pushed himself off the wall to leave again. This was definitely a story that Mercedes was going to love to hear, and for the first time that night, he was actually glad that he was alone to live through such a humiliating experience.

"Excuse me, Kurt Hummel," a perky voice suddenly came from behind him.

Kurt turned quickly hiding the photo behind his back like it was evidence to a crime he hadn't committed. "Yes," he said to the small, attractive brown haired woman before him.

"I'm Rachel, Rachel Berry." She flashed him a sincere, friendly smile, her brown eyes settling confidently on his.

Kurt quickly drank her appearance in; she was all professional. Large bag over her shoulder that could probably fit everything including the kitchen sink, phone in her hand, a notebook under her arm and a pen tucked behind her ear. "I'm Blaine Anderson's personal assistant," she continued, the warm smile never leaving her face. "Blaine Anderson would like to know if you're available to join him and some of his close acquaintances for a quiet private after concert get-together."

'Wow, that was an incredibly long way to describe a party,' Kurt thought to himself. 'But wait. What?

She watched him closely but patiently, waiting for the words to sink in. Kurt pointed to himself, "Me?" and then he pointed back to the room, "Him?" The smile only widened on Rachel's face and she gave him a quick reassuring nod. "Yeah, I, I, I'm available," Kurt said, his stutter returning. Heck, the only other thing on his schedule tonight was his bed.

She quickly scooped him up, her arm interlocking with his. "That's fantastic news," she announced and she did sound genuinely impressed. "If you don't mind coming with me, Blaine Anderson will ride in his car and I'll show you to another. You can join some of his entourage."

Entourage? Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?