He couldn't get the look that had shot through Blaine's eyes out of his head either. The first thought he'd had was that his rejection had actually hurt Blaine, but really they'd been playing cat and mouse since Tuesday. If anything the more difficult Kurt made things the more obsessively Blaine pursued him. He honestly didn't know what to make of that look, but he was certain he may have been given his first tiny glimpse at the into the enigma that was Blaine Anderson.

Half way through the class Blaine was once again finished with the assigned lab. Without a word, he dropped his lab report onto Mrs. Mentore's lap, ignored her demands for him to return to his seat, and walked out.

That afternoon' detention progressed in a similar fashion. Blaine was on time but incredibly belligerent, tapping his pencil, clicking his tongue ring and smacking his ankle monitor against the leg of his desk until Mr. Robertson threatened to keep him there until the janitors kicked them out. After that he'd slouched down, dropped his head onto the desk behind him and fallen asleep until five o'clock.

Kurt didn't understand the sudden lack of interest, or more importantly why Blaine not taking an interest in him was so annoying. He hated Blaine and everything he did and said, so why wasn't he overjoyed that he was finally leaving him alone?

Why did watching Blaine stare at another guy–an impossibly straight guy– in English the next morning make him hate the boy even more but at the same time want to pin him against that chalkboard? It happened again in their history class. Even though they were seated right next to each other, Blaine's eyes were focused instead on the Cheerio girl on his other side, pointedly ignoring Kurt's existence.

It wasn't until he dropped down at his usually table for lunch, spotting Blaine practically eye-fucking the same Cheerio across the room, that he realized what the hot sensation that had been bubbling in his chest all day was.

He was jealous. Dear god, he was jealous because Blaine didn't have eyes for only him anymore–or at all it seemed.

The Cheerio girl was practically in Blaine's lap now and tugging playfully at a stray curl on his forehead. Kurt glowered at his food, moodily stabbing at the lettuce. Suddenly, he didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

There was no way he was jealous. Jealousy was only a possibility if he liked Blaine, and there was no way he could possibly have feelings for him. The boy had been driving him absolutely insane for almost four days. There was nothing he liked about him at all.

And so what if they'd made out against a chalkboard? Or done whatever that had been in the bathroom. That didn't mean he liked him. They were hormonal teenage boys and Blaine was the first attractive guy to ever take an interest in him. He'd just taken an opportunity to gain some experience. Yes, he decided, that's all it had been. There was no way he could be developing anything except loathing for Blaine Anderson.

By the time he arrived for detention that afternoon, he had completely settled that his jealousy wasn't actual jealousy. It was just...he didn't know what to call it. But it wasn't jealousy. It wasn't.

Mr. Robertson was at his desk grading their in-class writing assignments from yesterday and simply waved his hand towards the front row of desks. The gesture was rather pointless. Kurt knew the drill by now. He dropped into his desk and dug out his history homework. Two and a half more hours and he would be free from detentions and Blaine for any entire weekend. He couldn't believe his first week had dragged by so slowly. His only hope was that it was foreshadowing of the rest of the year.

At least he had Friday Night Dinner to look forward too. After explaining to his father that he had to stay after for a "French Club meeting" they'd arranged instead to go out with the Hudsons to some new Italian restaurant across town. They were even picking him and Finn up from school. Finn was staying after for football practice.

Like on Wednesday Blaine arrived a good twenty minutes late, hair dripping wet, trails of water trekking down the stubble on his cheeks and neck. Kurt glared furiously at the intrusion on his concentration, trying to ignore one particular bead of water sliding down along Blaine's jaw line. He just wanted to catch the drop on his tongue and suck the slick trail off Blaine's face. Wanted to feel the sharp little hairs against his lips, and scrap his teeth against them...

He tensed as Blaine took the seat next to him, burying his mind back in his history textbook as Mr. Robertson told Blaine he was staying late again. Kurt gritted his teeth as the smell of peppermint wafted over from Blaine's desk. Just two more hours and he'd be free of him for two whole days. Unlike the day before, Blaine was silent. Only the scratching of his pencil could be heard as Kurt continued to read. At half past four something started buzzing on Mr. Robertson's desk.

They both looked up to watch him grab the cell phone vibrating across the desk. With a quick look at the screen Mr. Robertson stood up and said, "Sorry, boys. Have to take this call. I'll be in the hall."

He left, shutting the door behind himself as he picked up the call. His muffled voice faded away as Blaine stood up, stretching his arms high over his head. Kurt stared openly as his shirt was pulled up revealing a dark trail of hair and an exceptionally defined stomach, the v-shaped muscles tapering off down below his waistband.

Blaine saw where he was staring and just smiled in amusement, walking away from him to stretch his legs around the front of the room.

Kurt shifted his gaze away and regretted it at once. The chalkboard was right next to him. Instead, he cleared his throat as Blaine paced. But the silence was too awkward for him. There was never silence between them. Blaine was always making some ludicrous noise or they were bantering or they were–were moaning...

He gulped, cursing his brain for being allowed to remember things. Disgusted with how easily Blaine had corrupted him and turned him into a gooey puddle of sexual frustration. Yes, he definitely hated him, and not liked him. No doubt about it.

His eyes slowly trailed up Blaine's body, taking in the same tight jeans from the day before, but a different pair from Tuesday and Wednesday, and the tight white shirt. His usual leather jacket was absent and so was his eyebrow piercing. Kurt didn't know how he'd miss it before, maybe it was because he was too busy starting at Blaine's ass–

Get a grip, Hummel, he scolded himself. The newly awakened part of his brain added, Get a nice grip on that ass.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to smack his head into his desk. All of these thoughts and urges and ideas were all Blaine's fault. He couldn't stand how much control Blaine had over him without even trying.

Parts of Blaine's shirt were still damp around the collar. Kurt eyed them for a moment, and decided he might as well ask. He wanted to know and it would stop the tense silence between them.

"Why are you always wet when you're late?"

Blaine had stopped his pacing and leaned against the chalkboard next to Kurt's desk. He eyed Kurt for a long moment and seemed to decide the answer was harmless because he supplied, "I've got weight training seventh block so I take a shower after."

Kurt had a sudden vision of Blaine, naked and standing under a steaming hot spray of water. His entire torso stiffened at the mental image, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He would not fall apart and let things get out of hand again.

Blaine leaned down, palms flat on his desk, face so close his breath was tickling his ear. "Why do you want to know so badly?" he whispered, his voice low and gruff, "Planning on surprising me sometime, baby?"

Kurt needed to get away from him. To put some sort of distance there. He shoved Blaine away and started pacing the same path Blaine had been pacing moments before. He was just pivoting around from his second route when Blaine was unexpectedly right in front of him. Startled he backed away, finding himself once again with his back to a chalkboard. Arousal pulsed through him as Blaine moved forward, hands resting on the chalk tray on either side of his hips.

Hazel-green eyes were locked firmly on his trembling lips, looking at them like they were some wondrous exotic creature he'd never encountered before. But one he couldn't wait to claim as his own. Kurt shuffled his feet helplessly as another shot of arousal set his nerves on fire. God, no, he'd sworn he wasn't going to let this keep happening.

"I told you not to touch me, Anderson." His voice sounded breathless even to his own ears. Why did he even bothering saying anything? Now Blaine knew that he was already getting to him.

An insanely hot chuckle echoed in his ears as Blaine retorted teasingly, "I'm not touching you, Kurt." he paused and blew his hot breath into Kurt's face. The scent of peppermint and cigarettes made Kurt's knees weak as he continued, "But we both know damn well that you want me to."

So that's what this was, Kurt realized. Blaine knew just how irresistible he was to Kurt and he was toying with him. Not that Kurt had done anything to exactly hide the way Blaine made him feel. It still didn't explain why he'd stopped when asked. He didn't know. It was extremely difficult to think when Blaine so close.

Maybe that was all part of enticing him; luring him in for the kill by taking away what Kurt wanted most of all. Because god, he wanted Blaine. More than winning Regionals or living in New York or staring in a Broadway musical. He wanted those strong arms wrapped around him as they kissed fiercely, holding him together while his entire consciousness collapsed because of how complete he felt in his arms.

The image of the Cheerio girl tangling her fingers in Blaine's hair flashed across his mind. And then he did something he knew he was going to regret no matter how much he wanted it right now. He dug his fingernails into Blaine's scalp smashing their lips together in a heated kiss. His lips were already parted as he pressed at Blaine's shoulders, his tongue demanding entry into the heat of Blaine's mouth.

He was pleased to find that he'd taken Blaine by surprise and this time it was Blaine gasping against his lips. The hesitation only lasted for a fraction of a second. Blaine pressed his lips against Kurt's hard, letting Kurt's tongue slip inside his mouth to tangle itself around his own. They both moaned, fumbling for a hold on each other's hips and slamming against the chalkboard. Kurt shoved back from where he was once again pinned against the chalkboard, forcing Blaine roughly against the chalkboard. Blaine groaned in ecstasy letting Kurt grind against him. A hum of victory rumbled in Kurt's throat at the shift but it didn't last.

Both of their tongues were forced into his mouth instead, Blaine's thrusting tantalizing against his own, the smooth metal of his tongue piercing making him hard as a stone. Kurt growled in frustration as Blaine pushed him back, flipping him over and back to their original positions.

"God, I hate you." Kurt snarled, his voice raspy and deeper than Blaine had ever heard it, as they pushed against each other, tongues clashing.

"What in the world–"

They broke apart gasping. The door had opened without them noticing. Mr. Robertson was gaping at them, his face red, completely speechless. Kurt moved away from the chalkboard immediately, the wheels in his head turning rapidly as he tried to think up some story that could possibly prevent him from getting more detention. But Mr. Robertson was only staring at them, somewhere between amazed and disgusted.

"Boys–I–just–"

He stuttered helplessly, more embarrassed than either of his students. "Just–er–go–go. Now."

They didn't need telling twice. Blaine hitched up his bag and led the way out of the room. Kurt caught a glimpse of the clock before he left. Five minutes until five. He would be just on time to meet his dad and Carole in the parking lot.

Blaine turned off at the first hallway and Kurt kept going. What had he been thinking? Why did he even bother telling himself not to let it happen? Everything indicated that it was going to continue whether he thought it should or not. He burst out into the bright September sunlight, scanning the parking lot for his dad's old Mustang. He always drove that when he went out with Carole.

He spotted Finn before he saw the ruby red car. Behind him the door slammed open and Blaine appeared at his shoulder. Kurt ignored him and started across the parking lot to where his dad was waving him over. Something whacked against the pavement behind him and he couldn't resist looking only to have Blaine roll up next to him on a beat up looking skateboard.

Well, he definitely wasn't expecting that. For some reason his mind had created the image of Blaine's transportation as a rumbling motorcycle. Then he spotted the ankle monitor he still had no answer for, and made a guess. He probably wasn't allowed to have a vehicle or a license for that matter. From the little Kurt knew of ankle monitors, Blaine was only allowed a certain distance from his house. Since he was going to school he either lived right around the corner or the radius on it was several miles.
The red Mustang had pulled to a stop in front of them, the convertible roof was lowered and they were all smiling at him.

"Ready to go, buddy?" his dad called from the driver's seat.

Blaine's board squealed to a stop next to them. A cocky grin had taken over his features.

"Is this a friend of yours, Kurt?" Carole asked politely, smiling up at Blaine.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure friendships the last thing on either of our minds." Blaine said training his lustful gaze on Kurt.

"Excuse me?" Burt growled, his eyes narrowly dangerously. He killed the engine on the car.

Kurt tried to do damage control quickly. What did Blaine have to be such an ass?

"Dad, it's nothing. He's nothing." he turned to Blaine, "Get lost, Anderson."

"But Santana said you two made o–"

"Finn!" Kurt screeched, his deadly glare trained on the quarterback, who was looking both alarmed and sheepish.

"You what?!"

Burt had stepped out of the car, and Carole quickly followed, blocking his path to Blaine, who just stood his ground completely unfazed at the angry father ready to strangle him.

"Santana was totally wrong," Blaine said, eyes locked on Burt's, "I pretty much fucked him up against a chalkboard–"

Burt lunged and it took both Carole and Kurt to hold him back. Finn hopped out to help pull him back, and Kurt pulled away as Finn got a good grip.

"You stay the hell away from my son, you punk ass little–"

"Burt, please." Carole pleaded, yanking his arm in the direction of the car, "Let's just go. I'm sure Kurt can explain things better at dinner."

His dad was breathing like a winded rhinoceros, glaring at Blaine with more hatred than he'd seen on that face in the past sixteen years.

Cocky smile still stretched across his handsome face, Blaine popped his skateboard down and pushed off, calling over his shoulder, "Make sure to mention how much you moaned like a whore, Hummel!"

His father lunged again, bellowing some nonsense that wasn't really words, as Finn pinned his arms behind him. Carole was looking horrified as her eyes followed Blaine out of the parking lot. Kurt watched him disappear around the corner as well. He suddenly remembered why he'd made that promise to stop letting himself get involved with Blaine.