The room would be dark, lit only by blacklight, giving the space a peculiar, mysterious sort of glow to it, as if anything could happen within the strange brand of darkness. He would be sitting on a sprawling black leather couch, the furniture would need to be comfortable since he would be planning to spend quite a bit of time (and money) there. In front of him would be the pole. And on the pole would be the dancer. He would be dressed in some sort of get-up that consisted of nothing but deep, forest green leaves, creating a stark contrast against his porcelain skin as they trailed from a pale shoulder across his flawless, toned abdomen where it would meet a practically microscopic skirt of the same material that spanned his slim hips, a skirt that would just barely cover his manhood and that perfectly round ass. And he would be covered in glitter, silver body glitter that would shimmer ever-so-slightly when the light caught him just so.

He would watch him twirl around the pole effortlessly, wrap those long, lithe legs around the metal rod with unbelievable ease, his body slowly and sensually undulating all the while, fully aware of just how much delicious torture he was inflicting on his audience. The dancer would draw out his torment until he could tell his spectator was beside himself with desire, and only then would he flounce off of the small platform that housed the pole, his bare, pretty feet carrying him the short distance to where his viewer was seated.

Then he would straddle him, not allowing their groins to meet just yet, and spend long, tortuous moments gyrating his pelvis above, not to mention dangerously close to, his audience’s lap. His movements would be perfectly in sync with the thumping of the bass from the club’s speakers. Finally, fucking finally, he would let his body sink down, lowering the tight flesh of his ass to come into contact with his crotch, moaning instantly at the feel of the prominent bulge there. Deciding that he was through with his teasing, he would brace his hands on the other man’s shoulder and rock his cheeks back onto the clothed erection vigorously, releasing all sorts of delicious little gasps until—

“No me diga, please do not tell me you are jacking off to dirty fantasies of that little twink AGAIN—“

“SANTANA! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!”  Dave bellowed, frantically yanking his pants back up.

“—seriously, this is like the third time in the past two days!” Santana was undeterred by Dave’s disgruntled response. She folded her arms over her chest and regarded him accusatorily. “What, did he use his pixie magic to put you under some curse where you have to rub one out every twelve hours?”

“Would you just SHUT UP!” The billionaire snarled. Sure, Santana had seem him naked before, he had even forced her into trying to have sex back in high school, but the Latina had just interrupted what Dave was sure was going to be a really superb orgasm. The sad thing was, he really did feel like he had fallen under some sort of spell, Kurt’s spell. He couldn’t get the exquisite reporter out of his head, and neither did he want to, particularly when the man made such good fantasy material. Since Dave had been shown the pictures, Kurt had starred in daydreams as a cheerleader, a flight attendant, a corporate secretary, a French maid, and a schoolboy for Dave’s carnal pleasures. And although he’d spent the weekend shamelessly masturbating to the thought of Kurt Hummel, no one else needed to know about it. Especially Santana, whose fondness and skill for blackmail matched his. So David decided to mask his humiliation with rage, “Who the FUCK do you think you are?”

“Your fiancée, honey,” she replied in a sickly sweet tone, thrusting her hand forward to display the 12 carat, 2.1 million dollar ring resting on her left hand. “Can we just cut the crap? Yeah I caught you with your hand down your pants again, but the only reason it happened was because you demanded to see me. What’s this pressing matter I was told about? Need more lube?”

“Watch it, Santana,” he warned through gritted teeth. “I wanted to talk to you about Superman.”

The Latina rolled her eyes. “Him again?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Dave told her. “On Saturday they’re giving him the Key to the City. I want you there with Jacob.”

“To do what exactly?” she prompted.

“Investigate, ask people about him, just keep an eye on him in general,” the billionaire explained. “My plan is never going to work unless we learn everything we can about him.”

“And what would this evil grand scheme be, Mr. Luthor?” Santana inquired, trying to disguise her voice from betraying too much interest.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Like I’d tell you. Oh! And watch out for Hummel too. We need to observe him as well.”

“I don’t understand why I have to spend my precious Saturday afternoon stalking your wank material—“

“You don’t? That’s right, you never did go to college, did you? You chose to be a kept woman. Well Santana, if you don’t do what I ask, you’ll be spending the rest of your night in The Projects. I hear they opened a new one in Washington Heights, so make sure you choose your get your gang affiliation straightened out before you—“

“Okay, okay, boss,” Santana surrendered. “Me and Rat Boy will be there.”

“I knew you’d see things my way,” he sneered.

“Well, your threats are hard to resist!” the Latina cooed sarcastically before she started to stalk out of Dave’s luxurious bedroom.

“Oh! One more thing.”

Santana looked over her shoulder at Dave.

“The wedding invitations are going out this week. I don’t know, I just thought you should know.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, Santana did her best contort her facial features back into something that looked like habitual disinterest as she soaked in the information. Yet Santana was far from disinterested, she felt manipulated, taken advantage of, coerced, and actually vulnerable for fuck’s sake. Santana Lopez didn’t do vulnerable. She speed-walked out of the bedroom, leaving Dave to resume his dirty fantasies, not letting her façade crumble until she was in safety of her own quarters where, for the first time in God only knew how long, she cried.

0-0-0

“Gay. Other Gay,” Sue called out striding past their desks and dropping two plastic cards onto them. “Those are your press passes for Saturday. Lose them and I will bend you over my desk and spank your asses cherry red for the entire newsroom to see. Unless you derive sexual pleasure from that, in which case, I’ll have to come up with some other form of punishment.”

 “Thanks, Sue,” Kurt replied, completely unfazed as he continued clacking away on his keyboard, not even sparing a look at his editor.

Blaine however, watched Sue disappear into her office with his signature troubled puppy look. “How has no one ever filed a workplace harassment case against her?”

Kurt looked up at his boyfriend amusedly. “Because she’s damn good at what she does and can get away with it. The Daily Planet is an institution under her editorship. She’s like the Anna Wintour of newspapers.”

“Well at least Anna Wintour dresses better. And would never sport that haircut,” scoffed Blaine.

“Blaine,” Kurt began seriously. “You say this to me as if I’m not gay.”

The hero chuckled. “Forgive me.”

Kurt joined in on the giggling too until their eyes met in a very not-workplace-appropriate-especially-since-we-don’t-want-people-to-know-we’re-dating kind of way. Both men instantly snapped out of it, quickly refocusing on their individual work at hand.

An hour or so had passed when Blaine caught Kurt staring longingly at Tina and Mercedes leaving the newsroom for their daily smoking and gossip session.

“I take it Mercedes still won’t talk to you?”

“Hm?” Kurt replied, shaking himself out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. She’s still stubborn as ever.”

“Sorry,” Blaine muttered. He couldn’t help but feel guilty in the situation.

“Don’t,” Kurt assured him, his eyes filled with genuine sincerity. “She hasn’t been a very good lately anyway.”

“I guess,” Blaine shrugged, adjusting his glasses self-consciously. “Kurt, I—“

He was interrupted by the loud, jarring ring of Kurt’s office phone. The fair-skinned man looked at the phone with interest, yet quickly glanced at Blaine, who gestured it was okay, before Kurt answered.

“Louis Lane, The Daily Planet.”

Blaine tried to not to eavesdrop on Kurt’s conversation, striving to concentrate on his own story that was due at the end of the afternoon. He’d managed to ignore Kurt for a few minutes, yet a sudden exclamation from his boyfriend and flurry of frantic movement captured Blaine’s attention, and the temptation to use his super-hearing got the best of him.

“—at 4:37 A.M. It was a big one too.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t a routine government test or anything?” Kurt asked.

“Well, I mean, you’d probably have to call Los Alamos lab to get confirmation, but I doubt they’d even give it to ya. However, I know I’m not no map, but the explosion happened west of where Los Alamos usually tests.”

“I see. Well thank you so much for this tip, Willy. I’ll have The Planet’s cashier will be in touch regarding your reimbursement,” Kurt told the man, obviously struggling to maintain a professional tone and keep his excitement contained.

“Pleasure doing business with ya, Lou.”

As soon as Kurt hung up, he let out an excited squeal before he hollered “SUE!” and took off for her office. Blaine couldn’t stop himself from listening in again.

“—get to New Mexico ASAP!” he heard Kurt insist.

“Princess, I understand that you’ve got your man-thong in a twist—“ Now there was a pretty picture. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut to try to rid the image of his boyfriend in a thong from his mind’s eye, fully aware that getting an (technically another) erection at work was so not what he needed right now. He re-focused on the conversation at hand. “­­—but you seriously can’t expect me to book you on the next flight to Albuquerque with the Superman ceremony tomorrow.”

Kurt didn’t say anything for a few moments.
Shame crashed over Blaine, once again, he was fucking something up for Kurt. First it was his friendships, and now he was preventing his boyfriend from pursuing work opportunities.

“What—what if I l left right now and got back before it started? The ceremony doesn’t begin until two anyway and—“

“Kurt, be reasonable,” Sue ordered him. The reporter huffed indignantly at the demand. “­It’s a six hour flight from here to New Mexico, and besides, I need you for the ceremony tomorrow. It’s not my fault you’re the only person in Metropolis Superman will speak to and seeing as I want a better scoop on him than anyone else can get tomorrow, there’s no way you’re leaving the city, much less the Eastern Seaboard tonight.”

“But, Sue—“

“No buts, Hummel. You don’t even know if these explosions are related—“

“Well, that’s the reason why I’d go—“

“And let’s be honest, the whole piece has fizzled out anyway. Superman is what sells newspapers, not half baked theories on a couple explosions. That’s my final word.”

A few moments later, Kurt re-emerged from Sue’s office, stomping back to his desk.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine began meekly once his boyfriend had sat down again. “I can cover for you tomorr—“

“Don’t be ridiculous, Blaine,” Kurt snapped, although he sounded more defeated than malicious.
“New Mexico was a stupid idea anyway. Plus, there’s no way even you could cover the ceremony and be a part of it at the same time.”

“That’s not true, I could—“

“Blaine,” the reporter cut him off. “It’s fine, let’s drop it okay? Besides, I want to be there to support you.”

“Okay,” he agreed quietly. Kurt was still visibly upset however, so Blaine opened up Skype and typed a quick message.

Kurt heard the little ‘pop’ on his computer and checked its source.

BAnderson: I love you.

He replied instantaneously.

KurtHummel: I love you too.

They shared another one of those not-appropriate-for-work glances with each other until Kurt broke their gaze and wrote another message.

KurtHummel: Come find me in ten minutes.

Kurt didn’t wait for a reply from his boyfriend, standing up and sashaying out of the newsroom as Blaine watched after him, slightly staggered. That’s Kurt for you, always zigging when I think he’ll zag. He chuckled to himself and with a fond roll of his eyes, finished his article on an outbreak of rabid squirrels in Virginia before leaving his desk to find Kurt.

0-0-0

“A Janitor’s Closet, Kurt? Really?” Blaine teased as he joined Kurt in the dark, cramped space. “That’s a bit stereotypical don’t you think?

“Sorry,” he giggled as he draped his arms around Blaine and pulled the hero flush with his body. “I just really needed to kiss you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Blaine breathed as their faces drifted closer and closer together. “Never apologize for that.”

Their mouths found each other in a gentle kiss, their lips moving languidly. Blaine gripped Kurt’s hips as he slipped his tongue into the other’s mouth. Kurt groaned happily and began sucking on the hero’s tongue, eliciting a happy groan from Blaine as well. He was just about to pull back to pepper Blaine’s jaw with kisses when there was a sudden burst of brightness.

Kurt remained disoriented for a few moments, yet Blaine was off of him in a blink of an eye.

“See, Kurt, I told you they used Lysol and not Scrubbing Bubbles!” Blaine said in an overly cheerful tone along with some very fake, slightly maniacal laughter.

“Wha—“ But then he noticed the elderly gentlemen standing in the doorway looking awestruck that they were two men in his supply closet. “Oh!!” He exclaimed, catching on the charade. “Well, kudos to you! I—uh—“ Kurt turned to the Janitor. “We’re…um…doing a story on cleaning products and their quality and stuff…”

The Janitor merely grunted.

“We’ll just be going now,” Blaine chirped as he ushered Kurt out of the closet and past the Janitor. “Have a nice day!”

Once they had escaped to the stairwell, both men nearly collapsed laughing, even though Blaine couldn’t fight a niggling feeling that he and Kurt were going to have to be a lot more careful now on…

0-0-0

It was a clear day, a fact Kurt was infinitely grateful for as he pushed through the already amassing crowd in Time Square into the Limited Access area. He remembered back in college when a couple of friends had talked him into spending New Year’s Eve in Times Square, and it had been freezing and sleeting, not to mention absolutely miserable, the entire time. Yet instead of everyone decked out in 2003 sunglasses and hats, today the inhabitants of Times Square were all sporting Superman gear.

Kurt had never realized how much of an icon Blaine was. There were several varieties of Superman shirts, Superman balloons, Superman hats, Superman light-up toys, Superman buttons, Superman bobbleheads, Superman socks, Superman mugs, Superman underwear…Kurt didn’t know how he felt about that last one, he wasn’t exactly fond of the idea that people could wear his boyfriend’s emblem so close to their genitals.

He looked up at the large billboard mounted above the streets advertising today’s ceremony, displaying a gigantic picture of the man he loved, declaring him the “Man of Steel”. It was strange, seeing Blaine being portrayed as larger than life when he’d viewed him so intimately in everyday settings. Yet Blaine was so much more than Kurt’s boyfriend, he was a symbol of justice to thousands, possibly millions, of people. It was peculiar to Kurt to imagine how others must perceive him, however, his musings were cut short by his editor’s voice.

“So Lady Face does have a thing for Superman,” Sue announced smugly. “Well I hate to break it to you, Sparkles, but America’s favorite hero is most definitely straight.”

Kurt, unable to contain himself, let out a rather undignified snort, recalling his and Blaine’s bout of steamy lovemaking last night. If Sue only knew…

Sue surveyed her employee critically. “Kurt Hummel, tell me you did not consume any illegal or prescription substances before coming here! How are you going to interview Superman if you’re tripping on cocaine?!?! I am disgraced—“

“Sue, Sue! I’m fine trust me, you can go get a breathalyzer or…a urine sample or something, but I’m completely sober,” Kurt guaranteed her.

“Whatever you say, Lady McGirly,” Sue retorted. “How have things been going so far?”

“Good!” Kurt answered enthusiastically. “I already interviewed the chairperson of the Time Square Alliance regarding the event, as well as a bunch of revelers just now.”

“What about the Mayor?” The Editor-in-Chief demanded.

“His press agent arranged for me to speak to him before the presentation ceremony.” Kurt responded, not missing a beat.

“And Superman?”

Kurt had to repress a smirk. “He’ll find me, he always does.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Sue accused him.

“I’ll get you your interview, I promise,” Kurt told her.

Sue rolled her eyes, yet pressed on nonetheless. “Now where’s Anderson?”

“Oh, he’s around here somewhere,” Kurt replied breezily. “You know him, he’s probably at one of the merchandise stalls, looking for a Superman bowtie or something like that.”

“Well then, I really must be going” Sue announced. “Anthony Weiner requested to see me, presumably to try and seduce me.”

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head in confusion, yet didn’t say anything as Sue strode away. Blaine on the mind, he whipped out his cell and sent a text to him.

To: Blaine

I can’t wait to see you. Times Square is pretty decked out.

From: Blaine

Don’t say that, you’re just going to make me more nervous!

Kurt chuckled to himself. Blaine may have been the Man of Steel, but it seemed even Superman got butterflies.

To: Blaine

Don’t be. Everyone’s going to love you no matter what. It’s the speech, isn’t it?

From: Blaine

It’s the speech. I’m worried I’m either going to sound really lame or really arrogant, probably the former.

To: Blaine

Would it be totally corny if I told you to just speak from your heart?

From: Blaine

It would, but I appreciate it! ;-)

Kurt couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Blaine and his emoticons.

To: Blaine

You just need to relax.

From: Blaine

You know what helps me relax…

To: Blaine

?

From: Blaine

What are you wearing?

To: Blaine

Absolutely not. We are not sexting so you can masturbate to take the edge off. You’re meeting child cancer patients today!

From: Blaine

It was worth a shot. Your mention of kids with cancer killed any chance of a boner anyway. Some other time, then?

The reporter was about to type out a scathing reply when his phone rang. It was the Mayor’s press agent notifying him that Mayor Bloomberg was ready to see him in the VIP tent.  Kurt briskly began to make his way over to there while he texted Blaine.

To: Blaine

I’ve got to go. I’m about to interview the Mayor.

From: Blaine

Good luck!! See you soon, Mr. Lane :-D

To: Blaine

You too, Superman. Love you.

From: Blaine

Love you too.

By then Kurt had reached the VIP tent. Pocketing his phone and pulling out his tape recorder, he entered the area with all the astuteness and ambition of The Daily Planet’s top reporter.

0-0-0

Santana closed the town car door with more force than necessary as she exited the vehicle, the slam knocking Jacob back into the car’s interior. The Latina didn’t notice, and began to strut down the street into the milling mass of people as Jacob struggled to catch up, calling her name as he jogged after.

“Santana!” he hollered yet again. She swiveled around to face him so swiftly Jacob nearly toppled over her tall, slender frame.

“Okay, you little weasel, let’s get a couple things straight here—“

“Straight? I thought you were—“

“Ugh, SHUT UP!” Santana silenced him before continuing in a lower tone. “Just because I sleep with women you’ll only experience through your various porn subscriptions doesn’t mean you can make any lame-ass attempts at humor. I’m in charge here, you’re my minion, are we clear?”

Jacob responded with an audible gulp and frantic nodding of his head. The movement and its speed caused his (absolutely intolerable, Santana thought) Jew fro to sort of shake and flop along with his head. Maybe I can convince Dave to make him shave it. God, he’d probably cry for days, it would be so delicious...

Ponderings about her companion aside, the Latina got back down to business. “I don’t want to be here—fuck, I don’t even know what Dave thinks we can accomplish here today—but I am not going to let this day be ruined any further by having to spend it with you.”

“Buh-but the boss said—“

“Since when did you did you think that you could interrupt my twice in a five minute period and still retain one of your testicles?” Santana demanded venomously.

All Jacob could do was produce another gulp.

“Okay, now here how things are goings to go down,” she resumed. “You will follow around the lady-fabulous reporter Dave can’t seem to stop imagining fucking and I will watch out for Superman.”

“Why don’t I get to watch Superman?” he whined.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Santana apologized falsely, “did you want me to make good on the threat of neutering you? Because honestly, I’d much rather do that then spend the next three hours or so in a working class sandwich of tourists.”

“I—uh…” Jacob spluttered, well aware that he should probably just do whatever Santana said if he valued his life and testicles, “I’ll just go f-find him then…”

Santana sneered with malicious delight and folded her arms over her (artificially enhanced) chest with satisfaction and superiority. “I thought you’d see things my way. Now, run along, the Queen of the Twinks isn’t going to spy on himself now, is he?”

Jacob scampered away and disappeared into the crowd, and once he was out of sight, Santana allowed her malevolent façade to drop for a moment as she exhaled in relief. With Jacob gone and too terrified of her come within a hundred foot radius of her, Santana could put her plan into action.

She knew the odds were slim and the security would be tight, but she knew she had to try.

0-0-0

The ceremony started off slowly, much to Kurt’s dismay. Although the crowd erupted into an onslaught of cacophonous noise—cheers, applause, whistles—when Superman had arrived, the first hour or so was just government official after government official droning on and on about what Superman had done for the City of Metropolis and the world. Not that recognizing Blaine’s achievements and accomplishments weren’t important, but he could feel that the approximately one million spectators gathered there were just as anxious as he was to move on to the main event. Finally, Mayor Bloomberg took the podium and delivered a surprisingly heartfelt speech about the hero, and then it was time. Superman rose from his seat on the stage that had been set up for the day’s events, and the governor came out with a small, dark, polished wooden box. Mayor Bloomberg took the box from Governor Cuomo and presented the box to Superman, opening it so he could see the glinting gold key inside. The crowd burst into another round of arduous applause and the three men posed with the key as hundreds of cameras snapped and photographed the momentous moment. After a minute or two, it was Superman’s turn to take the podium.

Before he spoke, the hero cleared his throat and let his eyes scan the massive audience. Call it wishful thinking, but Kurt could have sworn that their gazes locked for a split second before Superman began to speak.

“I would like to begin by thanking Mayor Bloomberg, Governor Cuomo, and the City Council for this great honor. Additionally, I would like to thank the Times Square Alliance for organizing this wonderful celebration today, as well as everyone today here in person or tuning in offering their support. I know the phrase is trite and clichéd, but I would not be here without your unconditional and ardent encouragement, considering that I could be seen as the ultimate outsider since I am not a citizen of this planet. However, I have been overwhelmed by this nation’s acceptance, and eternally thankful for not having the Men in Black sicced on me,” The crowd shared a collective chuckle, and Superman smiled slightly. “Anyway, it was your belief in me and what I could do for this country that enabled me to realize them. You see, when I was younger, I was told that I had a destiny, that I would one become America’s greatest hero. Honestly, when I heard the prediction, I thought I had been mistaken.” The crowd again let out a chuckle at Superman’s humble remark. “I am still unsure of its accuracy, since I doubt I could ever match Americans such as George Washington, John Adams, Abraham Lincoln, or Franklin Roosevelt, but nevertheless I aspire to change this country for the better just as they did. Although I may have the ability to fly, I still believe that you don’t need to be Superman to make a difference in America. Now I know that the idea of ‘making a difference’ is vague and nondescript concept, but that’s how it should be, we all have a destiny, and it’s our job to discover our purpose and cultivate it. And as much as I love my job, if we pitched in, then I have no doubt that I wouldn’t be the only superperson among us.”

The crowd applauded once again and Kurt’s heart was full of pride, love, awe at the man before him. Pride at his sense of duty and commitment to his adopted homeland, love for his genuine nature and humility, and awe that he got to call him his. 

“Thank you again for this humbling honor,” Superman added, he looked over his shoulder for the okay from the event personnel before announcing to the audience, “At this time I will be fielding questions from the press.”

The mass of reporters sprung to life at Superman’s notice, all of them, Kurt included, shouting for the hero to call on them. However, Kurt was really only half-heartedly attempting to catch Superman’s attention since he knew fully well that the Kryptonian knew exactly who he was. Sue is going to be so impressed when I’m the first per—

“Yes, you, the lady in the red blazer,” Superman said, picking a woman clear on the other side of where Kurt was standing. The reporter blinked a couple times in shock, he had expected Blaine to choose him first. He couldn’t help but feel a little jilted at the action.

“Katherine Hunt, The Washington Post. Superman, you are obviously a symbol of patriotic pride here in America—“

“Well, thank you,” he said.

“—yet I’m curious to know what your stance is on more global issues, such as the conflicts in the Middle East, human trafficking, as well as drug wars in nations outside of ours.”

“Yes,” Superman began. “Although those are all serious problems plaguing our planet, they are intricate and complex, and involve cultural and religious relations that I do not feel that I am equipped to handle as of now. At the moment, I plan to focus on eradicating crime on a domestic level while gaining more experience and expertise before expanding into international concerns.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Hunt replied.

“Thank you,” Superman said before scanning the audience to pick another reporter. “Yes, the gentleman towards the back.”

Also not me, Kurt thought while he ground his teeth together in annoyance.

“Charles Martin, The San Francisco Chronicle,” the man introduced himself. “In your interview with The Daily Planet earlier this summer, you spoke about your home planet, Krypton. Apart from its destruction, can you tell us anything more about the planet?”

Kurt winced, Blaine never liked to discuss Krypton and his birth parents. The hero had opened up once one night back in July when Kurt had told him the story of his mother’s death and his father’s marriage to Carole and their reconfigured family, but Kurt could tell how much it pained Blaine to speak of Lara and Jor-El, especially since there had apparently been a lot of bad blood between he and his birth father during Blaine’s adolescence.

Though he may have been feeling peeved, Kurt couldn’t help but feel bad for his boyfriend as he watched him fight to keep his face a mask of friendly stoicism. “Yes, Krypton was a highly advanced society that I believe was located in the Xeno Galaxy. It revolved around a red star that served as its sun, and its collision with it caused the planet’s ultimate demise. My father, a scientist on Krypton, sent me to Earth not only to save myself and preserve his legacy, but to attempt to keep Earth from repeating the fatal mistakes those on Krypton made.”

“Well, we’re glad to have ya,” Charles told him. Superman responded with a tight smile and wasted no time returning to selecting another reporter to attend to. After having to answer such a personal question, Kurt wasn’t surprised that he was selected, due to the fact that Blaine knew the questions that he had been assigned to ask, since the hero had technically been assigned to ask them as well.

“Yes, Mr. Lane?”

Though Kurt liked to believe he was the epitome of professionalism, his cheeks colored when Superman called on him by name. He didn’t want to look like he had been given special treatment, yet on the other hand, he and Superman were obviously previously acquainted, and he supposed it would look awkward if they pretended like they didn’t know each other, especially since his interview with the hero was the biggest story of the year thus far.

“Nice to see you again, Superman,” Kurt said, trying to seem courteous.

Superman grinned at him with a much more genuine smile than the previous reporter had received. “You as well.”

“Right, yes, well,” Kurt stumbled to regain his decorous exterior. “There has been talk of the President offering you a special position within the American Government, potentially within the military. Would you consider accepting such a position?”

“I have not received any formal offer from the White House, and as flattering as it would be, I prefer to remain a ‘free agent’, so to speak,” Blaine answered. “And although I consider it my duty to protect our nation, I am nobody’s weapon.”

“Thank you, Superman,” Kurt replied, yet just as Blaine was re-situating himself to call on another person, he shouted, “Oh! Superman, just one more thing!”

“Yes, Mr. Lane?” Blaine addressed him, slightly befuddled by his boyfriend’s insisting.

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the series of explosions that have occurred in and around Metropolis—“’

“I am,” he affirmed, a tinge of defensiveness in his tone.

“—Then, I was wondering, since they are hypothesized to be linked, what you are doing to prevent them and protect civilians?”

“Well, Mr. Lane, as I’m sure you know, I patrol the city frequently on the lookout for exactly these types of hazards daily—“ Oh I know, Kurt quipped in his head, it’s the reason why you couldn’t cuddle in bed last night “—but I assure you bomb threats are on the top of my alert list. And I warn any person of the legal ramifications and punishments they are subject to if found to be involved in these sorts of activities.”

0-0-0

Boss is not going to be happy to hear about this, Jacob worried as he watched Superman continue to answer the swarm of journalists’ questions. He kept his eyes locked on Hummel though, who was five or six people deep to the front of him, not to mention additionally separated by the barricade dividing the press from the rest of spectators.

Jacob ruminated about the situation as he observed the scene in front of him with unfocused eyes. Now Superman was going to be on extra alert for any suspicious activity and if how Superman totally beasted Dave’s little test earlier this summer was any indication of his might, he wasn’t confident that his boss’s plan was going to succeed, especially since they had yet to figure out Superman’s weakness, if he even had any. And now with Hummel giving the issue all this attention—

Wait, he interrupted his own train of thought. Superman called him Lane, like Louis Lane from The Daily Planet! He interviewed Superman back in May! Ugh, Boss is going to pay dearly for Hummel’s pen name…maybe now I’ll finally be able to afford that deluxe limited-edition lightsaber…or that mega zoom for my camera for my ‘birdwatching hobby’…or even more ‘pre-owned’ panties on the internet…

Snapping out of his thoughts, Jacob resumed his close watch of Kurt for the remainder of the press conference. With information this valuable and so many potential purchases he could make with it, Kurt Hummel/Louis Lane was not leaving Jacob’s sight.

0-0-0

With the formal part of the ceremony over, the more celebratory, entertainment-centered half could begin. Although watching any distinguished individual receiving the key to the city would attract attention, Kurt knew that the majority of the crowd had come out for this part of the festivities. Not that he could really blame them—Ryan Seacrest was serving as the Master of Ceremonies for the event, and all sorts of performances and games were promised to those who attended. Ryan took the stage, earning a round of applause nowhere near the din Superman merited, but got things started nonetheless.

“We’ve gotten off to a great start today honoring Superman,” he began, “but now it’s time to celebrate! And what better way to kick things off than with some very beautiful dancers? Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you the Super-Girls!”

The crowd went wild as ACDC’s “Shoot to Thrill” blared through the area’s speakers. Despite his best attempts at staying cool and collected in contrast to the squealing fangirls surrounding him, (he had even heard a couple screechy marriage proposals amongst the commotion) Kurt was powerless against becoming swept up into all the excitement thrumming in the air as twenty or so women scampered on the stage. That was until he saw what the dancers were wearing. Kurt knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he couldn’t help the slight bugging out of his eyes as he took in how they managed to slut up his boyfriend’s garb of justice. There were the skin-tight, royal blue midriff tops with the Superman emblem emblazoned cross their buxom chests, along with practically microscopic pleated red skirts, and of course, they topped off the look with knee-high, four-inch red pleather boots. Kurt looked on with distaste as they completed their predictably provocative and unimaginative choreography. Something ugly flared in Kurt’s gut and only grew when he saw that Superman seemed to be enjoying their performance.

“They know how to make entrance, don’t they?” Ryan asked the crowd once the women had finished their routine. The crowd cheered in confirmation, though Kurt could tell that it was mostly the men praising the dancers. The emcee turned to regard Superman, “Now get on over here Superman!”

The hero rose and joined him center stage, where the Super-Girls wasted no time snuggling up to the hero, placing their hands all over his spandex-covered chest and arms, giggling as they did so. Kurt knew that Blaine was gay, he had a lingering soreness in his ass to prove it, but he couldn’t prevent the jealous pit twisting in his stomach at the sight of his boyfriend soaking up the attention from the opposite sex with such conviction. He knew that this was important, that Blaine put up the straight front so no one would dream of drawing the conclusion that Superman might be Blaine Anderson, but even that supposedly reassuring tidbit of information didn’t squelch Kurt’s now burning desire to beat all those skanks with their grotesque, poorly made stripper boots.

Thankfully, Ryan intervened before the dancers’ groping of Superman could progress anymore, quickly sidling up to the group and remarking, “Now, the official press conference is over, but we asked everyone on E! Online to submit their questions for Superman. We got millions of submissions, and we want to know if you’d be up for answering the five most popular ones?”

“Have at it, Ryan,” Superman replied with a cheeky wink to the audience. The entire female population of the spectators swooned at the gesture, the dancers to giggle yet again and cling to his biceps, and Kurt’s gag reflex to be triggered.  

“Okay, first of all, boxers or briefs?”

Superman laughed lightly before answering, “Boxers.”

True, Kurt verified internally.

“Glad we got that one cleared up. Now, what’s your favorite superpower, if you have one?” Ryan asked.

“Well, I do save a lot of gas money with the whole flying thing,” the hero replied with a coy smile. “And it really is quite scenic.”

The reporter smiled to himself, recalling the many instances he’d flown with Blaine. He did have a point, apart from the bird’s eye view of the city, flying provided Kurt with a unique sense of closeness and intimacy with his boyfriend, not to mention the sex on the ceiling.

Kurt had gotten distracted recalling all the romantic and coital advantages that Superman’s ability of flight provided in their relationship and therefore he only caught the tail-end of Ryan’s third question. “…with the costume, man? You know some top designers have expressed interest in revamping your look.”

He instantly refocused on the interview, eager to hear Blaine’s explanation for his less-than-fashionable get-up since he’d asked his boyfriend the same thing for so long. “Someone very close to me designed this for me, and I have an obligation to wear it.”

“I guess that’s the Superman sense of duty for ya,” Ryan regarded the audience with a shrug. He turned back to the Kryptonian, “Besides, everyone might not be a fan of the red-yellow-blue combo, but I bet none of the ladies have any problems with the spandex-fit.”

Superman attempted to brush off the insinuation with a self-effacing smile, yet the dancers took the statement as an invitation to get even more handsy with the hero, seriously, have these skanks even heard of the term ‘personal space’? and one even grabbed the Ryan’s mic and guaranteed, “Oh, we definitely don’t!”

The women in the audience let out a round of “woos!” and cat-calls while Kurt tried to remind himself of the dangers of climbing up onstage and to re-instate Blaine’s personal bubble and bitch-slap the dancers. He couldn’t believe how jealous he’d become, apparently sharing Superman was more difficult than he thought.

“Well, that leads us to our last question, Superman, you’ve got to have a girlfriend. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Blaine responded, remaining aloof and keeping his eyes from wandering over to wear Kurt was standing.

“Are you in the market for one?” Ryan pressed. “Because I think I know of a few ladies who’d be interested.”

As if on cue, the female spectators broke out into a chorus of “SUPERMAN PICK ME!” “I LOVE YOU, SUPERMAN!” “I’M YOUR FUTURE WIFE, SUPERMAN, YOU JUST DON’T KNOW IT YET!”

In their dreams, he scoffed. He was becoming way past annoyed at the women fawning over his boyfriend, and his boyfriend not doing anything about it, that the reporter knew he should remove himself from the situation before he did anything stupid. He stalked off, nudging his way rather aggressively through the crowd, not caring if he missed anything, since he could ask Superman himself for the details later. Provided he isn’t too busy with his pimping out his new ‘girlfriends’, he added bitterly. Kurt walked a couple blocks or so until he ducked into an alley, leaning against the undoubtedly germy brick wall, concealing himself behind the profile of a dumpster to cool off.

0-0-0

Jacob hurried after Kurt, tripping and being shoved more times than he’d like to admit. Jeez, for such a girly guy he sure is agile, he remarked as he pushed through the throng of people. Thankfully, Jacob didn’t lose sight of him, and was able to follow his target to an alley a block or two away from all the commotion. He stayed back, lingering at the entrance of the alley and craning his neck to peek at Kurt…who had simply tucked himself behind a dumpster and looked distraught.

The man’s actions befuddled him, why had Kurt left the ceremony he was supposed to be covering? What, does he have like claustrophobia or something? Jacob wondered.

0-0-0

“Sorry,” Superman told Ryan. “My job doesn’t really allow me to have much of a love life.”

All of Superman’s deranged little fangirls let out a resounding “awww” in disappointment at his answer, causing Santana to roll her eyes yet again. Having to deal with all the shrieking teenage psychos was even worse than she had imagined. Gracias a Dios whoever planned this shindig thought to include some lady eye candy, Santana leered internally. She hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of the second blonde “Super-Girl” to the right all throughout the performance and interview. Pretty face, awesome rack, maybe today wasn’t such a waste after all…

“Alright everyone, we’re going to take a short break to get the stage set for all the awesome entertainment we have in store for you,” Ryan announced. “So bear with us and we’ll be back in a few! I suggest you all take this opportunity to visit the merchandise stalls or get some Superman themed grub, all thanks to our sponsor Pepsi!”

The emcee, along with Superman and the dancers exited the stage, and Santana realized that this was her chance to warn him. She blazed through the now moving group of people, not hesitating to give any fatass that dared to get in her path a hearty shove as she tried to make her way to where she had seen Superman leave. Yet as she was approaching the backstage area, a red and blue blur whizzed by in her peripheral vision. Immediately, Santana changed her direction and towards where she could only guess where the blur headed.

0-0-0

The whole ‘alone with his thoughts’ thing was actually working to calm him down, until he heard “Kurt, what’s wrong?” and looked up to find himself face-to-face with Superman himself.

“Aren’t you supposed to be basking in the affection of your adoring fans?” he questioned acrimoniously.

“Well, they’re setting up for the concert portion, so I could sneak away for a couple minutes,” Blaine said. His boyfriend simply ‘hmm’ed’ in reply. “Seriously, what’s up?”

0-0-0

“Ugh! Get out of my way—Jacob?” Santana faltered when she realized who she’d bumped into. “What are you doing—“

“Shh!!” He urged, clamping a hand over mouth. Santana was just about to rip him a new one for touching her when she saw what—or rather, who—Jacob was motioning to in way of silent explanation.

It was Superman and Hummel. Together. The pair was standing close to each other and talking in low voices. Santana wrenched Jacob’s hand off her and leaned closer to better hear what they were saying.

0-0-0

Kurt sighed irritably. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s up, okay? I just needed a break from all the craziness.”

Blaine’s honey hazel eyes bore straight into his sea green ones. “You’re lying.”

“So what, you’re a lie detector now?” Kurt accused him defensively. “Excuse me while I add that to your list of abilities.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what you’re so pissed off about? Did I do something?” he pleaded, his voice mostly frustrated, but also combined with a vulnerability that made Kurt feel even worse than he already did about letting those stupid skanks get to him.

“No, Blaine. You’re…you’re perfect. It’s me. Why don’t you just go back to your Super-sluts, they’re probably a lot more fun than your moody boyfriend right now,” Kurt sulked.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Blaine realized with a short laugh of disbelief. “Kurt, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

The reporter rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, nothing short of positively humiliated by the overtness of his unfounded insecurities. “Just fuck off, okay? Fly on back to your concert or whatever they have planned for you.”

“Oh baby,” Blaine began in slightly patronizing, but mostly comforting tone as he collected his boyfriend in his arms, ignoring Kurt’s squirming. “Is this really about those dancers? You know I’m not attracted to them in the slightest! They aren’t my type,” he assured him, his voice dropping and his lips dangerously close to Kurt’s.

Kurt labored a large exhale. “I know, Blaine, I know. But, watching you with them and then all the women screaming for you and you just soaking it all up, it just really pissed me off. I mean I get it’s good that everyone thinks you’re straight—“

“But it’s not fair to you,” Blaine cut in. “I’m sorry that me and those girls got on your nerves—“

“That’s just the thing though!” Kurt pointed out shrilly. “They shouldn’t! We’ve been together for what, almost three months? I’m more frustrated that it frustrated me, not the fact that you flirted with a couple of bimbo dancers.”

“Still,” Blaine insisted. “It’s not a crime for you to feel a little possessive, Kurt. I know you trust me. God knows I’m not exactly the poster boy for letting things go—“ Kurt snorted, recollecting the incident the night of their one-month anniversary “—but you’re only human. But I’m sorry you feel that way, though, I must not be doing a good enough job of showing you what you do to me babe, how crazy you make me. Last night, for example…” He trailed off to nibble on Kurt’s neck and rub circles into his hipbones with his thumbs “…I don’t think I’ve come so hard in ages...’

“Oh no you don’t,” Kurt weakly protested Blaine’s ministrations. He allowed the Kryptonian to continue for a few more moments before pushing Blaine off of him and glowering at the hero. “You didn’t pick me first during the press conference.”

“Well I didn’t think you’d mind, since I’m planning on giving Louis Lane a personal, tell-all, clothing-optional interview later tonight,” he explained suggestively before going right back to ravishing Kurt’s neck.

“Is that so?” Kurt breathed, clutching onto Blaine’s back and digging his fingertips into the hard muscle there, feeling himself slipping under the hero’s spell. “Tha-that doesn’t sound very pro-professional, Superman.”

“That’s because you’re so fucking sexy, Mr. Lane,” Blaine growled against the skin of his neck and drove his hips into Kurt’s. The reporter gasped at the feel of Superman’s half-hard cock aligned right along his. “You make me abandon every professional bone in my body, and make me just want to bone you.”

“So I’m guessing that’s not a Superman flashlight I feel pressing into my hip?” Kurt snarked, yet grinded back against him nonetheless.

Blaine lifted his head, so he could smirk devilishly right into Kurt’s eyes. “What do you think, Mr. Lane?”

“I think you should probably get back to the seven million dollar ceremony the city of Metropolis is throwing you before they realize you’re missing,” Kurt told him sincerely.

Blaine sighed. “You’re right. But you’ll come back for the rest of it?”

“Yes,” Kurt assured him, smoothing invisible wrinkles on the Kryptonian’s suit. “You’ve sufficiently reminded me of your homosexuality.”

He pressed their lips together for a quick kiss.

“Later?” Blaine asked hopefully.

“Later,” Kurt repeated.

“Okay, I have the hospital visit and that benefit dinner thing, plus I was hoping to squeeze in a patrol, but I can—“

“Blaine,” Kurt stopped him with a single finger to his lips. “Don’t worry about it. When you get back, you get back. Besides, it’ll give me time to think up questions for my interview with Superman.”

Blaine beamed and kissed him again. “l love you.”

“I love you,” Kurt told him. He smacked Blaine lightly on the ass and ordered “Now go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Superman winked and in the blink of eye, lifted off and was out of sight. Kurt slumped against the brick wall, totally oblivious to all the potential damage it could cause his clothes, and marveled to himself, I can’t believe Superman’s my boyfriend.

0-0-0

Oh my God, I can’t believe Superman is his boyfriend, Santana marveled to herself. But when she thought about it, it made sense. After all, the hero had turned her down when he had rescued her that one time. The Latina was disappointed in herself, she liked to believe that she possessed the best gaydar in Metropolis, but this one…wow. What is it about this guy? Is Hummel’s ass the eighth wonder of the world or something? One thinG’S for sure, he does have a knack for attracting powerful, not to mention closeted men…Dave. What is Dave going to do when he fi—he can’t find out. He could use it to ruin Superman and we’d be even more fucked. She glanced over at Jacob, who seemed to either by on the verge of wetting himself with excitement or suffering physical pain from not bring able to speak.

Kurt exited the alleyway a moment later, the spring fully restored to his swishy step. She and Jacob flattened themselves against the opposite wall and held their breaths, luckily, the reporter was too caught up in his dreamy state to notice that if he turned his head the left he would find two eavesdroppers.

Once he disappeared down the street, Jacob finally burst. “OH MY—I CANT BELIEVE IT! SUPERMAN’S A HOMO! I’M GOING TO BE RICH! LUTHOR IS GOING TO—“

His catharsis was cut short by a yelp when Santana manhandled him into the alley and slammed his back brusquely against the brick.

“Okay, now listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a man,” she began, her voice menacing and low, “you are not going to tell Dave about anything you just saw.”

“What?” he squawked indignantly.

“You heard me.”

“Oh yeah, well what are you going to do about it?” Jacob challenged her.

“Well, I’m not going to do anything, because you see, when I get angry—like really angry—I get taken over by my other evil personality, I call her Snixx.”

“Snixx?” he repeated doubtfully.

The Latina nodded her head in confirmation, “I hear she’s terrifying. From the accounts I’ve been told, there’s always a lot of screaming in Spanish, dislocated body parts, and blood. I call her wrath of words and violence Snixx Juice and I can’t be blamed for anything she does, it’s like the Incredible Hulk.” She towered over Jacob before she threatened, “So if you do tell Dave what we just saw, you’re going to be introduced to Snixx and trust me, little man, it will not be pretty. Do we have an understanding?”

Jacob cowered and trembled, barely able to stutter out a feeble “y-y-yeh-yes.”

Santana grinned wickedly. “Good.”