Blaine Anderson was what some might call a "band geek". Having been in band since the first day of sixth grade, he was constantly ridiculed and made fun of, becoming the social pariah of the Midwest. Blaine was proud to be in the band, no matter what bullies said about him. He was proud of his instrument, a beautiful silver flute that had been his trusty companion for six years. Sure, it might be the "girliest" instrument, but when you were as talented as Blaine was, no one dared make a single peep about Sheila.

One of the advantages about being in band was marching season. Some might call Blaine crazy for saying this, but competing in the local drum corps competitions is the highlight of his year. Blaine's favorite question to be asked is why he enjoys the torture of marching season in general. His reply is the same every single time.

"Asking me why I enjoy marching season is like asking straight men why they enjoy going to dance classes with women. I get to stare at all of the hot muscular boys in the Color Guard."

However, McKinley High's Color Guard was seriously lacking in the male department, considering the fact that the Neanderthals at the school found it to be a "gay, fairy" sport, and no one liked to double cross them. But staring at the guys from the competing schools was nice, too.

~~~~`~~~~

The first day of Blaine's junior year was not on the first day of school, like normal people. His first day was a nice three weeks before, on the first day of band camp, otherwise known as "Hell on Earth". His alarm set off at six o'clock in the morning, signaling the start of that torturous day. After gelling his hair down to an inch of its life and slipping on a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt, he whipped up his keys and set off on the ten minute drive to McKinley High.

As he pulled into the parking lot, there was only one other car there, a huge and menacing black Navigator. It must be a new teacher, he thought. Who else would arrive an hour before practice starts?

Shrugging his shoulders, Blaine picked up his flute case and headed into the band room. As he stepped through the door, however, he realized he was not alone. A boy around his age, wielding a white wooden rifle, was practicing drop spins standing on one leg. If that wasn't impressive enough, the boy was drop dead gorgeous. He had chestnut hair coiffed perfectly into a pouf, alabaster skin, and piercing blue eyes- that were glaring straight at him. The boy had long since stopped spinning, defensively standing with his arms folded across his broad, oh, so broad , chest.

Blaine hadn't realized how long he'd been standing staring in the doorway until the boy spoke up.

"See something you like, pretty boy?" The crudeness of the statement had not hit Blaine yet, for he was focusing on how musical the boy's voice was.

"I... uh- You were- um," Blaine stuttered. Well, that was quite eloquent. "Are you new?"

The boy snorted. He actually snorted. "Yeah, I'm new, pretty boy. Just moved here from New York. This place really is America's asscrack. God, I miss the city. But hey, I've got some eye-candy, at least," the boy purred, strutting over towards Blaine. "I'm Kurt, by the way," the boy- Kurt- said, reaching a hand towards Blaine's face. Stroking his cheek, he lowered his voice to a whisper, "You got a name, pretty boy? Don't look so scared. I don't bite. Much."

Blaine gulped. "B-blaine. I'm Blaine," he stuttered, trying not to lean into Kurt's hand. Slowly, his mind came into focus, and he jerked away from Kurt's touch. "I always come an hour early to warm up," he rushed, scurrying away from Kurt and into his chair. He quickly unlatched his flute case, putting the pieces together and cleaning off the mouthpiece.

"Don't be such a cocktease," Kurt called, leaning against the door frame. Determined, like a cat chasing a mouse, he sauntered over to Blaine's chair, gripping both hands on the sides, and crouching down next to his ear. "I came to practice, too. As you saw earlier, I'm very good at handling my weapon," Kurt breathed, causing Blaine's face to turn as red as a tomato. Kurt pulled away then, striding back over to where he set his rifle down.

"I'll just be over here, Blaine. If you get sick of blowing on your flute, I know something else that's long and hard and in need of care." Kurt laughed, going back to practicing.

Blaine shook his head and took out his sheet music. They'd be tested on their chromatic scales later, and he felt a little rusty, even after practicing all summer long. After two runs, the door to the band room opened and a flood of band and guard students rushed through the doors, hoping not to be late. Being first chair for the flutes, he took out his attendance sheet and checked off all of the flutes that had arrived.

Tina Cohen-Chang, second chair flute and Blaine's best friend, plopped down in the chair next to him, already ranting about her day so far. "My alarm didn't go off until 7:15, and by that time, I was already supposed to be out the door, but I had to eat breakfast and get in the shower and brush my teeth, and it's a good thing that I only live five minutes away because otherwise I would've been late and then I would've had to do push-ups and you know I can't do push-ups. And oh my God, who's that new guard kid?"

Blaine cleared his throat, "That's Kurt. Who is apparently very gay." Tina's eyes widened comically. "How do you know? Oooh! Did he hit on you?" she squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Blaine scoffed. "Yeah, you could say that." At that moment, the two guard instructors and the band teacher waltzed in the room. The band teacher, Mr. Brewer, walked up to the white board and wrote "Welcome to Band Camp."

As the instructors made their opening speeches about the hardships and challenges they would be facing in the coming weeks, Blaine turned around in his seat to look for Kurt. He was surprised to see the other boy sitting down and paying attention to the speech instead of acting like the horny teenager he proved to be this morning. Impressed, Blaine turned around in his seat and listened to the last stretch of the speech.

"Something new we are introducing this band camp is the fact that not only the guard kids, but the band kids will be participating in the dance lessons that Ms. Sarah is instructing. This includes stretch block at the beginning of camp, and an hour of across the floors each day, in addition to your music or equipment training. We want a strong core this year, and these are the necessary steps we need to take for this to happen." Mr. Brewer finished to a large round of applause.

Immediately, without being told, everyone moved the chairs over to the side and formed a stretch block. Blaine put himself right in the front, not only because he liked to show off, but because he was short and couldn't see from the back. He took a look around to find that Kurt had positioned himself right behind Blaine. With a perfect view of his ass. Of course. Kurt winked saucily at Blaine before turning his attention back to Ms. Sarah in the front of the room.

As they moved through the stretches, each time that Blaine bent over, Kurt let out a low wolf whistle only loud enough for them to hear. Blaine wiggled his butt in reciprocation to the noise the first time, but was told off for moving by the instructor. As they moved onto the floor and stretched their legs out to the side of them, Blaine turned around to find Kurt in a perfect open second, waggling his eyebrows at Blaine.

"I'm very flexible," Kurt mouthed, snorting at Blaine's appalled reaction.

The whole day progressed on as such, with Kurt making either sexual innuendos or vulgar commentary and Blaine growing a deeper shade of red with each different one. At the end of the day, Blaine was so tired and horny, that he just wanted to get home, flop down on his bed, and masturbate until he fell asleep.

But Kurt had other plans.

As Blaine was making his way to his car at 5:30, a pale hand caught his wrist and tugged him backwards. "Tina, what do you want this- oh, hi, Kurt," Blaine slurred, his words jumbling together from exhaustion.

"Hi there, pretty boy, you didn't forget about me did ya?" Kurt smirked leaning in towards Blaine. Blaine glanced at his plump, pink lips and gulped, blood rushing south. Kurt stopped about two centimeters away from his lips and just breathed, making Blaine so very badly want to close the gap. But before he could do so, Kurt pulled away, giggling.

He threw his flag bag over his shoulder and strutted away towards the black Navigator. Before he opened the door, he called, "You're not the only one who can be a tease, sweetheart!" and quickly drove away.

This was going to be a long three weeks, Blaine thought.