First, he was blowing on the back of Kurt's neck all throughout English. It was so distracting Kurt didn't remember anything from that hour except walking in and sitting down. A quick trip to the bathroom between classes had brought him face to face with Blaine, who'd asked if he needed any assistance. He'd been at his locker between every class as well-with his locker already opened. Mr. Ferguson, the cranky old history teacher, insisted on alphabetical seating arrangements which landed them in two front row desks next to each other. A certain booted foot took every opportunity to shuffle over and tangle itself around Kurt's ankle. When the bell rang to signal the change to fifth block Kurt had hoped to get rid of him. No such luck. Blaine had pressed their sides together as they walked to AP Environmental Science, his wandering hands doing their damnedest to slip into the back pocket of Kurt's jeans.

Kurt was a ridiculous mixture of annoyed, starving, and horny by the time lunch arrived. He'd spent the better part of Environmental Science half-hard because Blaine had been sucking on his pen in an incredibly suggestive manner from across the room. As soon as the bell sounded he took off, darting away from Blaine in the madness of the hallway crowd and grabbing his lunch, a small salad, quickly before getting a table around in the corner where he'd hopefully go unnoticed. The only person he knew, once again, was Blaine. And he did not want to be stuck with that arrogant, lewd, sexy asshole for an entire half an hour.

"Trying to make the chase more difficult, baby?"

His forkful of greens paused on its way to his mouth, his lips pursing in aggravation. A plastic tray clattered onto the tabletop next to his own as a warm body pressed into his side on the bench.

"What do you want, Blaine?" he demanded, swatting away the muscular arm that was attempting to wrap around his waist.

Blaine only chuckled in response, slinging his tattered bag onto the table and taking a bite of greasy pizza. Blaine's backpack looked like it had been through a shredder. It was patched and frayed and held together with what looked like several pounds of hot pink duct tape. Kurt couldn't understand how it didn't disintegrate at the slightest touch, or why Blaine kept the ratty thing. Disgusted, Kurt crinkled his nose and slide down the bench towards the wall.

He made a noise of irritation when Blaine followed, sliding down so that he was trapped between the wall and his body. Kurt glared at him, and then flinched away when Blaine's hand pressed into his thigh. He jolted up out of his seat and Blaine chuckled again, eyeing him with curiosity, "You really don't like being touched, do you?"

"You have no concept of personal space." Kurt shot back, making a grab for his bag and almost head butting Blaine, who snatched it up and tucked it between his feet.

He nearly stamped his foot in frustration. His hands curled into fists and it was taking all of his willpower to not slap Blaine again as he commanded, "Give me my bag, Anderson."

"Just sit down and eat, babe." The tone was gentle; the gentlest he'd ever heard from Blaine. He was so surprised he just gaped at the other boy. He expected the hazel-green eyes to be boring into him, pupils blow with lust, but they weren't. They were narrowed and focused on a table not far from their own. Kurt looked too. Several of the jocks on the football were watching them closely as though waiting for him to make a dramatic exit. Among them he saw Azimio and Karofsky, whose face was littered with several dark bruises, evidence of his fight with Blaine the previous day. Their glares were trained on him, or maybe Blaine. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't like it.

Slowly, he dropped onto the bench across from Blaine, who had gone back to eating his pizza in silence. He felt something brush against his leg and glanced down expecting the now familiar boot clad foot. He was once again surprised–his backpack was now at his feet. A quick glance at the jocks showed they had turned back to their own meals in disappointment. What was going on? Kurt wondered in amazement, pulling his tray over to his new spot. Was Blaine trying to protect him? That didn't make any sense at all.

"I don't need your protection if that's what you're thinking," he said icily, leaning forward and glaring at Blaine again.

"Why would I ever think that, babe?" Blaine retorted, not even glancing up from his food, "The hard-on you had all morning is more than enough proof for me that you're a big boy. You can handle yourself just fine, I'm sure."

The suggestive tone had returned and with it came Kurt's annoyance. It was really starting to get old, even if it still make him blush to the roots of his hair.
"Just-god-just-shut up." Kurt fumbled over his words angrily, digging in his bag for his latest copy of Vogue. He flipped to the page he had dog-eared and promptly ignored Blaine's presence in favor of an article about Patti LuPone's upcoming book.

"Supposed to be an interesting read, I've heard."

Kurt rolled his eyes and didn't bother looking up. "Oh please. Like you even know who Patti LuPone is."

"Of course I do. Same way I know that outfit is Alexander McQueen."

Kurt's head shot up of its own accord. He could not believe what he had just heard. It was Blaine's turn to roll his eyes and look annoyed.

"Well, I am gay, Hummel.Did you expect me to not be any part of that stereotype?"

The bell signaling the end of their lunch period echoed down the halls. Blaine stood up quickly, stuffing his uneaten apple into his jacket pocket and slinging the remains of a once decent backpack over his shoulder.

"I'll see you in detention, babe." Blaine gave him a flirtatious wink and a cocky half-smirk before heading out into the flock of students crowding the hallway, leaving Kurt far more curious now than he'd ever wanted to be.

----------------------------------------------------------

For being the shortest part of his day, his unwanted lunch with Blaine had given him a lot to think about during his final class, Pre Calculus. Mrs. Krauss, who he'd had the previous year, was a nice, middle-aged woman who adored him. It made replaying the last half an hour in his head a thousand times easier because she already knew he was a good kid and focused on rooting out troublemakers elsewhere.

HadBlaine been trying to protect him?

Or was he using Kurt as a shield?

Neither option made any sense to Kurt. Even his friends rarely stuck up for him or tried to stop Azimio and Karofsky. In fact, the only time they'd ever really come to his aid was when they'd had that Glee lesson on theatricality at the end of last year. There was no reason for Blaine to do it if his own friends didn't. And as for him being a shield for Blaine, the thought was ridiculous. The bruises on Karofsky's face were more than enough evidence of that.

But what really confused him was the Alexander McQueen comment. The fact that Blaine had known his outfit's designer and might even know about Patti LuPone bugged him a lot more than the jock issue. He knew it should be the other way around but Blaine hadn't shown any indication of having any of his interests. The only interests of his that Kurt was even aware of was cigarettes, trouble, and himself. He didn't like those options either.

He started in his seat as the afternoon announcements chimed in. The dismissal bell followed and he shuffled out with the rest of his class, stopping by his locker to grab the books he needed for his homework and then trekking to Mr. Robertson's classroom for his detention. He was still dreading it, but he couldn't help but hope he might get some answers to the questions he now had. Mr. Robertson was seated at his desk, pouring over papers when he knocked.

"Ah, Mr. Hummel. Grab a seat up front." Mr. Robertson put down his pen and pulled open one of his desk drawers. He pulled out a worn paperback book and handed it to Kurt. "Here, you missed these being handed out yesterday."

Kurt glanced down at the cover. The Count of Monte Cristo. This must be the first novel for the semester. He was disappointed that it wasn't something he'd already read. He dropped his bag next to the seat by the wall, eyeing the vocabulary list written on the chalkboard next to him.

"I suggest you spend the next few hours reading what has been assigned for tomorrow." Mr. Robertson had settled back into his desk chair. With a glance at his wristwatch he added, whether out loud to himself or to Kurt was anyone's guess, "Why do I get the feeling that Mr. Anderson will not be joining us?"

Kurt looked at the clock on the far wall. Their detention was set to start at half past two. It was a quarter until three. He hated that he wasn't relieved at the thought that Blaine was skipping. He wanted answers. And when Kurt Hummel wanted something he did everything in his power to get it. After another five minutes of watching the door and the clock, he decided to take Mr. Robertson's advice and settled in to read until five o'clock.

Loud footsteps he connected with the heavy boots that spent more time rubbing against his calves than walking echoed in from the hallway. Blaine appeared around the doorway, jacket slung over his shoulder and a few books carried at his side. Somewhere in the region of his throat, Kurt's heart twanged like a rubber band. Blaine's dark curls were soaked with what Kurt could only assume was water. The beads were slowly dripping down onto his shirt leaving dark spots in the green fabric. He dropped into the desk next to Kurt with a crooked smile and Kurt suddenly had an eyeful of the toned muscles of Blaine's left arm. He sucked in a sharp breath and looked back at his book.

"How kind of you to join us, Mr. Anderson." Mr. Robertson was bearing down on them, and he was suddenly much less kind than he had been with Kurt. He thrust Blaine a copy of the assigned book and said in clipped tones, "You'll stay an extra half an hour to make up for your tardiness."

Blaine just grinned mockingly at him and gave a cheekily little salute. The next hour passed in silence. Even though Kurt had his face buried in his book his eyes kept drifting to Blaine. Every time he'd seen him today he ended up with more questions. Blaine, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice his inattention. Much to Kurt's surprise his eyes were glued to the textbook on his desk, pencil tapping furiously against the pages while his tongue piercing clicked in time against his teeth. It was a good thing he was already unfocused because the fast-paced beat would have made it impossible.

He really needed to stop staring and read. But the more Kurt looked the harder it was to turn away. Fantasies were chasing each other around in his head, getting progressively more provocative and salacious. Soft, pink lips traced a wet path up the column of his neck. Rough, callused hands were gripping his hips hard enough to bruise as their bodies rutted against each other. Teeth were scraping and nipping, moving up to bite roughly on his earlobe. A warm tongue flicked out to sooth the bitten skin... His own teeth pierced his lip as he fought down a broken moan. He shifted around in his chair, discreetly trying to rearrange himself in his pants.

The movement caught Blaine's eye. Suddenly very aware of himself, he sat up ramrod straight trying to look as dignified as possible when his cock was throbbing painfully in his tight jeans. Thank god he'd worn a knee-length sweater today–at least it covered up the straining bulge.

He risked a glance at Blaine and felt his breath stutter in his chest. As inexperienced in sex as he may be he wasn't completely obtuse. Those damn hazel-green eyes were darker than he'd ever seen them. His skin prickled as if it was blistering under Blaine's hot gaze, another shot of arousal curled in his stomach.

Blaine was giving him bedroom eyes.

Fuck.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and glared hard at his book willing it to transport him to the safety of his bedroom where he could finish his fantasizing without an audience. Another painful throb made him shift in discomfort. God, he hated that boy.

His brain was becoming so fuzzy he barely heard the scrap of a desk chair as Mr. Robertson stood up and stretched. Some coherent part of his brain registered his teacher saying he was heading out for a quick bathroom break and that they had both better be in same spot when he returned.

Clearly, Blaine hadn't heard the last part. As soon as he was out the door, Blaine was out of his desk, and oh god, there was no mistaking the bulge now at his eye level. And then he was yanked out of his seat, strong hands grabbing fistfuls of his sweater and pressing him backwards against the chalkboard. He almost squawked out a protest about ruining his brand-new Alexander McQueen but then Blaine's hard body was sealed against his own, crushing him against the chalkboard. A hot, needy mouth found his and this time he did nothing to stop the broken moan that came rushing out of him.

Blaine took the opportunity, thrusting his tongue between Kurt's parted lips and forcing Kurt's legs apart with his knee. Kurt's head was spinning. The chalk tray was digging sharply into his ass but god, he didn't care. There were teeth and tongues and hot breath everywhere-nothing of the sweet innocence he'd imagined in his first real kiss. Strong hands were tracing the sides of his body finally settling on his ass as their tongues dueled for dominance. His hips jerked forward on impulse when Blaine drew his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down harder than was probably necessary. Blaine groaned throatily in response and sucked harder on his lip. The vibrations sent shockwaves of heat straight to his cock and his hips jerked wildly again. But this time Blaine's hips surged forward, thrusting down hard against Kurt.

He felt like he was shattering into a million pieces. He couldn't believe anything that was happening as he torn his lips away from Blaine's and sucked down a gallon of air. But Blaine didn't stop. His hungry mouth attached itself to Kurt's jaw and neck, his teeth scraping against the alabaster skin. He was relieved when he was easily hoisted up and pressed more firmly against the chalkboard, his legs wrapping tightly around Blaine's waist. The ache from the chalk tray digging into his ass was eased and he no longer had to worry about his legs collapsing beneath him.
Blaine's mouth sought out his again, his hips rolling slowing against Kurt's as he held him up against the wall. The fact that he was strong enough to support all of Kurt's weight just turned him on even more. Quick, panting breaths seared over his lips as Blaine pulled away just enough to whisper against his mouth, "Fuck, I want you so much."

Kurt whimpered and did the only think that made any sense in his hormone-addled brain. His hand tangled into the dark curls at the base of Blaine's neck and yanked his mouth forward, crushing it against his own. Blaine hummed against his lips, increasing the tempo of his hips, and digging his fingers into the skin stretched over Kurt's hipbones.

If they kept this up he knew he'd have bruises in the morning, and his favorite pair of jeans would be absolutely ruined. He still couldn't find the willpower to care. His hand traced down the defined muscles off Blaine's broad back, down to the dip of his spine where his fingers pressed into warm, slightly damp flesh. A deep moan vibrated against his lips as his fingertips dipped under the waistband of Blaine's jeans-

Something outside in the hallway shattered. With a gasp, Kurt torn his lips away from Blaine, his feet falling back to the tile floor as he shoved the other boy off of him. It was like somebody had flipped a switch to his memory. Blaine. The boy who'd landed him in detention and been borderline sexually harassing him since the moment they'd met. And he, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, had just spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes having clothed sex against a chalkboard with the same boy. No. Just no. How could he let that happen? Why the hell did it have to feel so unbelievably good?

Mr. Robertson appeared in the doorway, his hands full of the shattered remains of what had been a ceramic coffee mug. His shirt and tie we're splattered a rusty brown and he was cursing under his breath. Kurt slide back into his seat unnoticed, ignoring Blaine, who was still standing in the same spot, breathing hard.

"Ah, Mr. Hummel. You are-" Mr. Robertson dug through his desk drawer for a small pile of napkins and proceeded to started patting down the coffee stains, "-free to go. Mr. Anderson return to your seat. Now."

Kurt unceremoniously stuffed the paperback novel he'd made no progress on into his bag and darted from the room. Once he was in the empty corridor he broke out into a ran or as much of a ran as he could manage when he was still half-hard in his jeans.

There was no way, absolutely no way, that what he had just done with Blaine Anderson could ever happen again.