“So Blaine,” Trent began as he shuffled to catch up him in the end-of-practice mass exodus. “Will you be joining us for the Warbler Friday Flick tonight? It’s Pirates of the Caribbean!”

“He can’t,” Sebastian answered before the lead Warbler could reply, slinging an arm around the shorter boy in a way that was casual but still somehow possessive, his permanent haughty smirk etched onto his thin lips.

Blaine glared at the other boy before addressing Trent. “We have a family thing,” he told his fellow Warbler apologetically. “Maybe some other time.”

“Oh,” said Trent, looking and sounding defeated as he glanced between the two boys and their easy physical contact as they strode down the lofty hall leading from the Senior Commons to the rest of the school. He added in a tight voice, “I didn’t know your families were so close.”

“Yep,” Sebastian chirped, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously, Blaine thought. He tried to shrug off Sebastian’s arm, but the boy’s grip was unrelenting. “Our families have been friends for literally generations,” he bragged. “In fact, both of our great-great grandfathers were among Dalton’s first graduating class.”

“How interesting,” Trent responded, his jealously thinly veiled with his falsely pleasant tone.

“Isn’t it though?” Sebastian chimed, smiling extra broadly, clearly undaunted by the other Warbler’s blatant attempts at poorly executed passive aggressiveness. “Blainers and I—“

“Don’t call me that—“

“—have been friends since before we were even born. Heck, we were friends before our parents were born for that matter!” Sebastian finished his arrogant, enthusiastic boast that ensured his underlying message of Back off bitch, you don’t have a popsicle’s chance in hell with him was clearly communicated.

“Well Blaine, Sebastian,” Trent added begrudgingly. “Here’s to hoping you’ll make it to next week’s movie night.”

“You guys have fun without us,” Blaine urged with a rueful grin. “And remember don’t let Nick and Jeff split a pack of Red Bull again, you know what happened last time!”

“Will do!” He called, a wide smile on his face. He waved at the pair before exiting the building, presumably returning to his respective dorm.

“Ugh, that twerp is totally obsessed with you,” Sebastian declared as soon as the boy was out the door. Blaine rolled his eyes in dismissal, but Sebastian persisted, “Seriously, Blaine, he probably doodles ‘Trent and Blaine Anderson-Nixon’ into the corners of all his notebooks. And isn’t he friends with your suitemate? Dude, you should seriously check your underwear drawer and make sure nothing’s missing.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Blaine scoffed, finally able to break free of the death grip Seb had on his shoulder. “He was just being nice.”

“Blaine,” Sebastian stopped his leisurely stroll to look Blaine in the eye with a disbelieving expression.

The other boy sighed. “He’s just…I don’t know—starstruck or something like that because I’m the lead singer.”

“Blaine,” Sebastian repeated, clearly not buying that explanation either.

“It’s just a crush!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “And what was up with you back there, practically revealing The Society! The secret thing only works if you don’t go around namedropping every chance you get.”

“Ugh, please,” Sebastian scoffed, “I had to.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” he insisted. “One, I have French with Trent, something tells me he doesn’t really possess the brain power to figure out The Society from the fact our grandpas were friends.”

Blaine interjected. “Do you think he’s dumb because he’s actually not good at French, or because of unfair advantage over everyone else at the language?”

Sebastian paused for a moment before answering, “Both. Two, I had to or the little pest would have followed back to your room like a stray dog, a perverted lovesick puppy dog that would have tried to steal your skivvies.”

“Well, if he makes a move I’ll be sure to let him down easy,” he sighed, too tired from his late night study session for his Calc exam first period to properly verbally spar with his friend.

Now it was Sebastian’s turn to sigh. “Just like you always do. Seriously, you’re sex on a stick and sing like a dream—“

“SEB!”

“—when are you finally going to do the gay male population a favor and punch in your v-card already?” the taller Warbler pressed as they crossed Dalton’s main courtyard, Harding Place (named after the 29th President and Dalton alumnus), to their dorm, the most exclusive on campus, Founder’s Hall. “You know my door is always open—“

“That’s the thing,” Blaine muttered under his breath.

“—if you want to just get it over with someone you know and trust.”

“Yeah, I’ll uh…” the lead singer struggled to come up with a semi-articulate reply as they ascended the building’s wide and meticulously preserved staircase to their rooms“…I’ll…keep that in mind.”

They made their way down the hallway in a companionable silence, before stopping at their doors, one across from the other.

“Meet at 7:15?” Blaine asked.

“Blaine, you say this like haven’t had to do this the third Friday of every month for like—ever…”

The raven-haired boy chuckled. “See you in a bit, then.”

0-0-0

Low and behold, Blaine and Sebastian reconvened at 7:15 and made their way down to the dining hall, where they found Peter and Josh just sitting down with their meals.

“So for my birthday last month, my dad got me this sick-ass crossbow,” Josh told the other boys as scarfed down his second taco. The dining hall was predictably quiet for a Friday night, most students having gone home for the weekend or making use of the various pizza places with delivery service about a mile or so from campus. The lack of students was what allowed the four to talk about “Society stuff” so freely.

“I’ve seen it, it’s sweet,” Peter vouched.

“Dudes, I’m telling you, with all the kills I’ll be able to score with that thing, I’ll have that Mustang by Christmas, Spring Break at the latest,” Josh said with an excited grin. “I’m going to get so much pussy once I get those keys.”

“Hmm, pussy,” Sebastian reveled with sarcasm, “Who doesn’t love a good old wet, floppy vag—“

“Oh my God, Sebastian, please—“ Blaine interjected, trying to sound like he was joking around, but really blushing to his roots.

 “Oh um, right,” Josh began awkwardly. “Forgot who I was with. I mean, not that you guys being gay is something we forget about, but you guys are…cool, you know? So it’s just easy to—“

“Josh, it’s fine,” Blaine assured him with warm smile, saving the him from his spluttering.

“Yeah, I’ll just shut up now.”

“Well, what about you guys?” Peter asked cautiously. “Have you been getting any…um, ass lately.”

“Barely,” Sebastian answered with a frustrated exhalation.

“Really? But you’re like player with other guys,” Josh piped up.

“Well, it’s just I’ve already fucked every guy here that’s hot and willing—“ Blaine could feel Sebastian’s eyes dart toward him as he spoke. “—and the crowd lately at Scandals has been sub-par.”

“What about you, Blaine?” Peter asked, all three of his peers looking at him expectantly, except he could detect the amusement in Sebastian’s eyes rather than the earnestness in the other boys’.

“I, um…” Blaine scrambled to come up with an answer quickly, he didn’t want to give Seb the satisfaction of seeing him make an ass of himself, especially not in front of Peter and Josh too. “…no one’s really caught my eye.”

“Shit, Blaine you’re such an enny…enig—you’re such a mystery, man!” Josh proclaimed. “Seriously, you bag more kills than any of us combined, but you never let anyone know how you do it and like, I don’t know, you’re so mysterious sometimes.”

Blaine shrugged self-effacingly. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just how I am.” He glanced at the clock above the door, relieved that it was time to go. “Speaking of which, we should all head out before our fathers turn us into the merchants.”

0-0-0

Blaine didn’t really look a lot like his dad. He had a similar jaw maybe, but he inherited almost all of his mother’s dark features. Cooper got the piercing blue eyes, the fair complexion, not to mention the height as well. But Cooper had moved out to West Coast when Blaine was ten, and thus his training began—target practice, survival skills, history and anthropology. Josh and the other guys thought he was an enigma, but there wasn’t really any mystery to be solved—his father had used him to fill the void Cooper had left. And when Blaine had come out, he had to become the best, he had to be the hunter amongst the junior members of The Society to make up for being a flawed son.

“Blaine,” his father greeted him warmly, momentarily halting his conversation with Henry Dalton IV himself.

He smiled in return, though the grin didn’t reach his eyes, and joined his father where he and Mr. Dalton were congregated by the extravagant, crackling fireplace of the Worthington Alumni Gathering Hall.

He clapped his hand on Blaine’s back and spoke once more, “There he is, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up at all son, or worse, arrive late!”

The elder Anderson and Mr. Dalton broke out into a round of boisterous laughter at the remark.

“Oh, lay off him, Damien,” Henry chided his companion lightly, “Young Blaine was probably just resting up for this weekend’s excursion. Isn’t that right, Blaine?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered, feeling uncomfortable from not only the company, but also from his formal attire. Blaine wanted nothing more to be wearing his favorite, ratty sweats right now, or at the very least, jeans after a long week of his constricting uniform. However, Blaine had swapped his school regulation grey trousers for black ones and changed out of his navy blazer into The Society’s maroon jacket. He hadn’t been able to wash out his hair either, forced to use a little water to resculpt his style because Lord forbid he tried to actually brush his hair after he put product in it (disaster!) Nevertheless, he plastered on a courteous smile and explained to the great-grandson of the school’s founder, “Myself and some of the boys were eating dinner.”

“See,” Henry proclaimed proudly, “Damien, we can’t have the best hunter I’ve seen in decades be sluggish this weekend!”

“I suppose you’re right,” Damien surrendered politely. “It wasn’t too terribly long ago that I was his age, I remember have a growing man’s bottomless appetite.”

Dalton guffawed raucously once again before launching into a story about potroast at Yale, which was Blaine’s cue to tune the older men’s conversation completely out. He scanned the room, spotting the Cavanaughs chatting with Sebastian and his father in the far corner of the room, the young Dalton, Henry V, only a freshman, standing with Peter and Josh near the bookcases, the Fairfaxes and the MacDougals speaking in between two of the room’s large plush leather couches, the two Dagliesh men hurrying in through the doors, looking flustered and angry with each other. William, the younger Dagliesh, had graduated from Dalton last year and was now required to either make the six hour drive or hop on a plane monthly from Chicago to be present for the Society’s meetings. 

“Are we all here?” Henry asked the room at large. Everyone looked around and after a moment or two, answered in the affirmative. “Very well!”

The meeting started as it always did. The lights were turned off so that the only source of illumination was the flames stirring in the marble fireplace. Mr. Dalton led the reaffirmation of their oath, in Latin of course, and their motto, Generosum in lucem Venatores Nocte: Gentleman in the Light, Hunters at Night. Then the lights were switched back on, and sixteen cigars were passed around and lit for every member. At first, Blaine had never been fond of the heady smoke of cigars, but over the years had learned to school his palate to liking them, and they really did take the edge off after a long, arduous school week, especially with the hunting trip this weekend.

The men puffed away on their cigars for a few minutes, catching up with each other, before Henry called them back to order.

“Alright men, now we all know that tomorrow night is the final hunt of the fall season before our friends retreat into the caves for the winter,” Mr. Dalton began. “Therefore, tomorrow’s objective is no mercy, we must collect as many kills as possible to present to the merchants,” he urged in a solemn tone yet added, “after all Christmas is closer than we think, and I know some of us could use the extra cash for our wives’ shopping lists!”

“Forget the wives, I’m getting a yacht!” Richard Moseley, Peter’s father cried.

All of the Senior Members laughed, the younger men awkwardly joining in for appearance’s sake.

Henry cleared his throat to refocus the attention and continue, “And after speaking with our contacts on the market, there also exists a request for a live specimen.”

A shocked gasp swept through the room, followed by hushed but agitated murmurs.

Blaine leaned over to his father and whispered, “Dad, has anyone ever caught a live one before? Is that even possible?”

Damien nodded gravely. “It is, but it hasn’t happened in years.”

Dalton was still speaking, “—buyer is willing to pay hundreds of thousands, if not a million dollars, for the capture, depending on the quality of the creature’s condition.”

A stunned silence settled over the men, all staggered by the proposition. Sure, none of them really needed the money, but a payoff so large was hard to resist no matter what one’s income was.

Dalton allowed the quiet to permeate a little longer before briskly moving on to other, more mundane, typical aspects of the meeting that usually centered on logistics. Blaine could usually condition himself to listen intently to these discussions, after years of hunting he knew the importance of every detail when he was on the prowl, but tonight he was unable to concentrate. For once he couldn’t think about the kill, he was fixated on a live capture.