Kurt was eight when he realised that he liked boys. Liked boys, that is.

Kurt was sixteen when he realised that, actually, sometimes, boys liked him too.

Kurt was eighteen when he realised that he could make boys like him. Even, sometimes, the straight ones. All the things he’d cursed himself for, when he was younger, were assets now. His slender figure, high voice, and pretty face were like catnip for the sexually adventurous, sexually confused, or sexually bored straight men of the world. Well, men who thought they were straight. Until they met Kurt.

If you were psychoanalysing Kurt, you might tell him that his slight obsession with finding and ‘turning’ straight men was some kind of manifestation of revenge, for the heterosexual and homophobic boys who tormented him relentlessly throughout high school. You might even tell him that his constant need to prove himself sexually attractive to anyone and everyone was a symptom of something deeper. You might say that, but by that point, Kurt would probably have you pressed up against a wall, desperate to be touched by him, and denying the existence of a time where this wasn’t exactly what you wanted. Then you’d probably forget about words, and half an hour later, Kurt would be leaving you dazed, with a smirk and an extra skip in his step.

After Kurt had moved far across the country to study Musical Theatre at UCLA, he’d reinvented himself slightly. He shed his virginal, innocent and vaguely cherubic image, and built himself up a new persona. If he was honest, he modelled at least half of his new personality on Santana’s sexually charged, no-nonsense attitude. And holy hell, it worked.

At first, of course, Kurt mostly fooled around with gay or bisexual boys. The drama department was crawling with them, and he couldn’t go for a day or two without being propositioned by an upperclassman, keen to show the ropes to the new countertenor.

But after a semester or two, it was same-old, same-old. Older boy, decent sex, slightly awkward goodbye, rinse and repeat. Kurt didn’t want to get weighed down by a relationship, and he loved the thrill of meeting someone new. But it was just too easy, now.

He was invited to a frat party by a guy that he’d met in a Philosophy lecture. Sure, why not? he’d thought. If nothing else, he could hang out and judge the invariably trashily dressed sorority girls, and maybe even make a new friend or two.

Kurt really shouldn’t have been surprised when he arrived at the frat house and discovered that it was basically a house full of Finn’s, aged a few years, with varying hair colours. Tall, beefy men with plaid shirts or garish t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans, sloshing beer around as they perved on girls in short dresses. Kurt was surprised by how attractive he found it; he’d almost forgotten that there was something other than slightly melodramatic, well-groomed and slightly effeminate drama kids.

So, Kurt decided that that night, he was going to show one of these jocks all the things he could do that a girl, a sorority girl couldn’t. It was surprisingly easy, really. The guy he’d picked was standing off to the side, obviously a freshman who was still nervous and shy. But the way he was leering at girls – Kurt knew he was probably straight. Or at least, mostly straight. It only took four drinks (admittedly, one was a very strong shot) before Kurt was asking this boy if he knew somewhere a little more private. That was the first time Kurt slept with a straight boy on purpose, but certainly not the last time.

He became known for it in his sophomore year. It was a bit of a joke around his gay friends; they’d lay money down on how long it would take him to get a certain guy into bed. Sometimes it was hours, sometimes he would have to pursue them for weeks or even months before finally, he’d succeed, and he could return, triumphant. There were only a few times he’d failed, but even then – it was fun, while it lasted.

It was the second day of Kurt’s junior year when he met Blaine Anderson. He was in Kurt’s playwriting course, and at first, Kurt didn’t give him a second look. Well, that’s a lie. He took a moment to notice Blaine’s adorable curls, the way his eyes were always smiling, and, of course, the way his arms looked in a t-shirt. But from the first moment Kurt saw Blaine he was sure that he was gay. And where was the fun in that?

Five weeks into semester, the class had a show case of their work. It was essentially just a read-through of a few select students’ work, but they were allowed to invite guests to come along and listen. The students were picked by secret ballot. Kurt’s hadn’t been chosen – when he’d found out, he’d been hurt, and then angry, and then spent the rest of the hour glaring at everyone in his class, when they weren’t looking. Obviously, his class had no taste. Especially Blaine. Of course, Kurt had already figured this out; despite him consistently wearing tight jeans, his gay classmate still hadn’t so much as looked at his ass. Not even when he’d dropped his pen several times, and made something of a show of picking it up - just because he didn’t intend to pick up Blaine, didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy teasing him.

The read-through was in one of the larger classrooms, at six o’clock on a Tuesday. Kurt nearly didn’t go, but he didn’t want to be seen as a sore loser, so he found himself a seat up the back, pulled out a sketch pad, and sat down, fully prepared to tune out the next few hours and get some costume designs down for his other course.

A few minutes before they were scheduled to start, Blaine had arrived. But he wasn’t alone. A pretty, brunette girl arrived with him and – were they holding hands? Kurt’s initial glance turned into something of a stare as he watched Blaine show this girl a seat, kiss the top of her head affectionately, and settle down beside her.

Well, well, well. That was interesting. Apparently Blaine Anderson (Or Blanderson, Kurt had taken to calling him in his slightly unkinder moments) was straight after all. Someone should probably tell his wardrobe, he thought cattily to himself. But still. He was cute, and straight, and boy if that wasn’t exactly Kurt’s type.

Kurt folded his sketchbook shut, forgetting for the moment about costume design, and tucked it into his satchel. He then proceeded to spend the next hour staring at the back of Blander- Blaine’s head, half ashamed at himself for not fully appreciating the sexiness of his back before, and half planning how exactly to get this fine-backed man into bed, preferably as soon as possible. And thus, he formulated a plan.

Step one: See Blaine outside of class.

This one was easy, and Kurt organised it before the end of the week. Ten minutes using his Facebook-stalking skills (well, not really, it mostly involved looking at Blaine’s Facebook page) alerted Kurt to the fact that Blaine would be at the college bar that Thursday with a few of his friends. So Kurt put on his best (tightest) jeans, a very well tailored black shirt and an attention-grabbing yet classy hat and swept into the bar with confidence.

A quick survey of the room told him that Blaine was standing near the far end of the bar, talking with a few other guys that Kurt maybe recognised as older theatre studies students. Kurt expertly positioned himself mid-way up the bar, leaning on the bar, to look like he was trying to get the bartenders attention – and was it his fault if his shirt rode up a little bit and his toned stomach was visible? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed with pleasure that Blaine had noticed him, and hadn’t immediately looked away. This may be easier than he suspected.

It took the bartender five minutes to serve him his drink – a vodka and diet coke, his standard – and it took Blaine seven minutes to come over to say hi.

“Hi,” Blaine said, positioning himself next to Kurt at the bar, and signalling the bartender for another drink.

“Oh hi. Blaine, right?” Kurt said. As if he didn’t know.

“Yes, Kurt. How is it going?”

“Oh, not bad. Just thought I’d stop by, see if there was anyone around,” Kurt said, purposely surveying the room, as if he hadn’t found exactly what he was looking for. “What brings you here?”

“Just catching up with some friends,” Blaine gestured vaguely in the direction of the group he’d been talking to previously. One glance told Kurt that they were looking over with interest, which pleased him. This probably meant that Blaine didn’t often talk to randoms at bars – or, better yet, that Blaine had said something to them about Kurt. “Do you come here often?” Blaine barely finished the sentence before blushing, realising how it sounded. “I mean, I’ve not seen you here before?”

“Maybe you just didn’t notice,” Kurt said, his tone bordering on flirty, but he was careful to keep it ambiguous. He didn’t want to scare off Straight Blaine.

“Maybe, but unlikely,” Blaine said, his eyes dancing. At that moment, the bartender returned with Blaine’s beer. Blaine slapped a few bills down onto the bar. “Would you like to join us? Unless you’ve seen someone else you know?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I might just head elsewhere,” Kurt said, finishing his drink. It was always important to leave them wanting more. “See you around, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Blaine corrected. “Class, tomorrow.”

“Oh, right,” Kurt said. As if he didn’t know. “See you tomorrow.”

Kurt left the bar then, making sure that his hips swung a little bit more then was strictly necessary. He didn’t need to turn around to know that, in all likelihood, Blaine was already questioning his sexuality.

Step two: Organise meeting outside of class.

The next part was slightly harder. It was important to differentiate himself from other students, and to establish a report outside the classroom or chance meetings. So, Kurt spent the entire next day’s class pretending to look puzzled. Of course, Kurt knew exactly what the class was about, he could have done this in his sleep. But still, it was important to play the part. After all, wasn’t that exactly what his entire degree was teaching him?

So Blaine didn’t look surprised when Kurt approached him after the class, Kurt’s face purposely arranged in a look of slight distress and worry. “Hey, Blaine, do you have a sec?” Kurt asked. He knew, of course, that Blaine didn’t have a moment, because he was always running off to another class after this one. Not that Kurt had noticed.

“Uh, Kurt, I’ve actually got to run, in a sec.”

“I’m just – I’m having trouble with some of the material, and you seem to be pretty clued in, and I was hoping maybe – you’d go through some of it with me?” Kurt said, trying to look up at Blaine hopefully, which was made hard by the fact that Blaine was several inches shorter than him.

“Um, I think the TA probably has office hours next week, she might be a better help to you. I’m not sure I’d be that much help, so you might want to wait and talk to her.”

Kurt cut him off. “Oh, but isn’t the writing assignment due on Monday?”

Blaine regarded him slowly. “Yes, it is.”

“I... I know it’s a big deal, Blaine,” Kurt said, trying not to be to too obvious as he batted his eyelashes and bit his lip. “But if you had any free time this weekend, I would really really appreciate it.” He hoped the implication was enough for Blaine to pick up on, but subtle enough for plausible deniability.

“Ah – well, I suppose you’re lucky, I’ve not got much on this weekend,” Blaine answered. “I have a few hours free tomorrow afternoon, if you wanted to meet up then? ”

“Oh, that would be perfect,” Kurt breathed. “Is four okay for you? Where should I meet you?”

“How about the library?” Blaine said, a smile playing across his lips. Kurt inwardly sighed. Blaine was making this more difficult than it needed to be.

As much as Kurt wanted to reply, ’How about we just skip the studying and you turn up naked to my dorm room’, he resisted. “That sounds great! See you then – I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, with a slightly meaningful edge to his voice.

“Yes, Kurt, see you then,” Blaine said, sounding vaguely amused, although Kurt couldn’t quite figure out why.

Step Three: Turn up to said meeting look irresistible.

Kurt had already finished the assignment, of course. He was definitely going to get an A for it. He therefore spent his early Saturday afternoon constructing a poorly thought-out out, error-ridden and quite frankly terrible replication of his assignment – just in case Blaine actually got around to reading it before bending Kurt over and fucking him senseless. Which was, of course, the plan for the evening.

Kurt then moved on to far more important things – outfit choice. He didn’t want to go too gay- that tended to scare them off. At the same time, dressing slightly effeminately generally made the transition from girl to Kurt easier for boys. He therefore selected some of his nicer jeans, along with a top that gaped a little at the top. He knew how boy’s minds worked, and no boy could resist looking down an open shirt, even if it belonged to another boy. It was just human nature.

He arrived at the library to a pleasant surprise. All the tables were taken, so it looked like it was either sitting in some secluded corner in the stacks, or – better – going elsewhere.

Fortunately he didn’t have to lurk about awkwardly – Blaine was doing that enough for the both of him. His classmate was standing near the check-out section, looking incredibly adorable in more dressed-down clothes than Kurt had seen him in before. He was wearing a red cardigan and dark jeans, his hair less slicked back than usual. Kurt strutted over to him confidently.

“Hello, Blaine.”

“Kurt, hi!” Blaine smiled warmly. “Um, it looks like there’s not much room.”

“Yeah, midterms,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes. “Should we – go somewhere else?” he said, rife with implication.

“Sure, there’s a coffee shop that I think will be open,” Blaine said quickly.

“Oh, my dorm room is like, two minutes away. Why don’t we just go there?”

Blaine paused for a long minute. “Yeah, okay,” Blaine said.

“Besides, I’ve got all my books there. It might help,” Kurt added, before turning and walking out of the library, Blaine in tow.

Their walk back to his dorm was quiet. Kurt didn’t want to make chatty small talk, as he was keen to maintain an image of aloofness and vague disinterest. Blaine, to his credit, was similarly quiet.

“Here we are,” Kurt announced, as he slid his room key into the magnetic lock and opened the door. His room was clean, as usual. He’d managed to score a single this semester, and had put a lot of work into really making it his own.

“Nice place,” Blaine said. “Mine’s a mess. I’m off-campus, though.”

“Oh, really?” Kurt said. “Do you live with your girlfriend, then?”

Blaine made an expression that Kurt didn’t quite understand, but immediately Kurt regretted it. He remembered that generally, it’s best not to remind guys of their girlfriends when trying to make then question their sexuality. “No, just a few friends,” Blaine said.

There was a long, awkward pause before Blaine sat down on Kurt’s couch and pulled his books out of his bag. “Should we get started, then?”

Kurt realised that this might be harder than he originally thought. He was right. For the next two hours, they went over Kurt’s essay, slowly improving it. Kurt had never been more bored and frustrated in his life. Every time he tried to make a flirty comment or joke or talk about something other than class, Blaine picked up another book and rifled through it, finding a perfect quote.

“I think that’s definitely A worthy,” Blaine said, once they’d finished. He stood up and looked pleased with himself. Inwardly, Kurt seethed. Had Blaine not noticed their legs pressing together? Had he smelt the cologne that Kurt had specially picked out? Had he not goddamn heard the Barry White that ‘accidentally’ came on, half an hour into their ‘study session’? How on earth could Blaine have not even reacted when ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails had started playing, and Kurt had begun to sing along, ’I want to fuck you like an animal’, under his breath. But no, Blaine had started talking about narrative and voice and seriously, Kurt thought.

But Kurt was nothing if not determined, and the moment that Blaine had left, he’d started planning the next stage of his plan.

Step Four: If all else fails, become friends, and then bang them.

Kurt had rarely had to resort to this before. Usually he’d have the object of his affections – or at least attentions – panting underneath him by this point. But Blaine seemed so goddamn gentlemanly and dapper, that he was going to have to play the long game. So be it, he thought. Game on.

And so, he became friends with Blaine. It was actually surprisingly easy. The boy that he’d originally thought was boring was anything but. What he’d mistook for blandness was actually kindness; Blaine was genuinely nice. More than anything, though, he found that Blaine actually got him. It was strange, really; he’d met so many new, gay friends at college, that he would have thought would be more understanding. But most of them were from LA, or at least places a lot more liberal than Lima, and none of them really understood how it was growing up there as a gay kid. Sometimes Kurt suspected that they thought he was exaggerating. But Blaine was from Ohio as well, only a few hours away, and while obviously he didn’t have the gay-teen experience, he’d seen it happening.

They’d both been in show choir, too, which surprised Kurt. He wondered briefly if the New Directions had ever competed against Blaine’s school, but wouldn’t he have noticed him? Over long coffee sessions, Kurt painted the picture of Rachel, and countless horrifying suggestions prefaced with, “Mister Schue, if I may?”. In turn Blaine told him in vivid details of Wes and his gavel obsession, so vibrant and detailed that Kurt could almost see the stories unfolding in his mind’s eye.

On the rare occasion, Kurt almost forgot what his original mission was; to seduce the straight Blaine. But it was always there in the back of his mind, so he constantly tried to push it, just a little bit further, each time. They’d go for coffee, and then, after a few weeks, graduate to going for a drink. What started as study session became just hanging out time. They’d always talked over emails or Facebook, sending short messages saying, “Coffee – tomorrow?” or “I don’t get what the Professor was talking about – explain it to me over drinks?”

Then, they exchanged numbers, and suddenly Blaine was around all the time – not in person, of course, but in text form. Sometimes it would just be a text or two day – just random thoughts, like Blaine texting him - “Just saw a guy wearing your red sweater. You’re not cutting edge anymore – want me to help you burn it?” And sometimes, “Sitting next to a guy that is you in 30 years. Sneaky picture incoming.” The worst part was how Kurt felt when he got these texts. His friends would ask him why he was smiling, and he’d brush it off. “Just the latest challenge.”

On the rare occasion, Kurt caught himself, with horror, briefly liking Blaine. But that wasn’t what this was about. Kurt loved to sleep with straight guys. But he would never, ever date one. Too much drama, too much angst. So he pushed it aside, and smirked, and elaborated on his epic plan in his journal.

Step 5: Get him drunk. Like, really drunk.

It was that awkward week before the week before the finals, when everyone knew that finals were coming up, but they were still a little bit in denial about it. All the undergrads wanted to get the partying out of their system early, or stock up, like a cactus sucking up water before the drought. With that in mind, Kurt sent Blaine a short text on a Friday afternoon. “One last hurrah before studying for the rest of our lives – you, me, tequila?” As soon as he hit the send button, he regretted it. He should have invited other people, orchestrated an entire night based around him picking up Blaine, with all his friends in on it and helping out. But it was too late.

Then, the reply. “Count me in. What time do I come over? X”. Kurt stared at the X for a full minute. If it was xx, or xxx, it would be easier to read. But Blaine sometimes signed off his messages like that, obviously too lazy to type out his whole name. So it didn’t mean anything. Kurt briefly wondered how Blaine texted his girlfriend. Although, Blaine hadn’t mentioned his girlfriend recently. Perhaps they’d broken up? It would certainly make things easier, Kurt reasoned. Although what was the challenge in picking up a guy on the rebound? But he’d put so much time and effort into Blaine that, well, fuck it. He’d take an easy win, just to get this over with.

His mind briefly skipped to after, after he’d completed his mission and actually fucked Blaine and then – what? Would they still be friends, or would it be awkward and stilted and – well, whatever. Kurt pushed it out of his mind. Their class together would be over soon enough, so either way, it wouldn’t be a drama. He just needed to focus on the task at hand.

Blaine arrived exactly on time. Obviously, his private schooling provided him with punctuality that Kurt’s friends from Lima could only dream about. He stepped into Kurt’s room, shrugging off his coat, and heading directly to the kitchenette.

“I really need a drink,” Blaine said, with a strange urgency in his voice. Who was Kurt to argue?

Smirking, Kurt produced from his mini-fridge a box of margarita mix. “I came prepared,” he said, before tipping some into two tumblers he had sitting, prepared. He then added the tequila. Perhaps one standard drink was the “recommended” dosage, but Kurt was a fan of equality, and therefore, a fifty-fifty split seemed only fair.

“Whoa,” Blaine said. “Celebrating something?”

“Maybe,” Kurt replied coyly, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t suppose you have any little umbrellas?” Blaine asked, looking at his drink before taking a sip and trying to disguise his face as he tasted it.

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Kurt said. He’d normally make some comment about Blaine’s sexuality, but he found that mentioning it was generally not a great idea.

“Oh yeah?” Blaine says, before noticing Kurt’s iPod plugged into his sound system. He spends the next hour scrolling through Kurt’s songs, playing the first two-thirds of them, proclaiming, “I love this song so much! Oh my god!” before finding another song that he loves more and putting that one on. Kurt would normally roll his eyes and steal his iPod back, but everything is a little fuzzy and happy and goddammit, he loves tequila. Two heavily tequila-laden drinks later, he’s happy with any song that Blaine would like to play the first thirty seconds of.

Then Blaine finds a song that makes him squeal - squeal, mind you, which makes Kurt wonder how Blaine’s girlfriend can deal with being such an obvious beard – and announces, “this is literally, literally, and I mean literally literally, not figuratively, the best song in the entire existence of the whole entire universe, not even joking, at all.” Or at least, that’s what he meant to say, although it’s a little slurry. Possibly because while Kurt’s drinks were strong, Blaine’s drinks were practically toxic.

“You think I’m pretty without any makeup on,” Blaine starts, slightly out of tune but adorable none the less. “Something something something,” is what he follows it up with, although the way he’s moving his hips back and forwards, Kurt barely noticed the fact that Blaine had completely forgotten the words.

“You’ll be my valentine!” Blaine proclaims, loudly, grabbing Kurt’s hands and singing at him. Not to him, not really. More – at him, loudly, in his general direction. “Let’s go all the way tonight – no regrets,” Blaine took a hearty swig of his drink in lieu of finishing that line. Kurt appreciated his priorities.

“We can daaance until we die,” Blaine continued, trying and failing to spin Kurt. “You and I... will be young for ever!” Blaine pointed at Kurt then, indicating that he should sing the next line. Kurt fixed his face into a look of exasperation, but he was secretly pleased. He sort of loved this song too.

“You make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream, the way you turn me on,” he sung to Blaine.

“I can’t sleep, let’s run away and don’t ever look back.”

“Don’t ever look back.” Well, this was going according to plan, Kurt thought. Blaine had managed to spin him and then pull him in, so that they were right up against each other, Blaine’s arm tightly clutched behind Kurt’s back, not letting him escape.

“Don’t ever look back,” Blaine sung, although now it was half talking, and not entirely singing. Neither of them sung the next line, but it hung in the air, all the same.

My heart stops when you look at me, just one touch, now baby I believe, this is real, so take a chance, and don’t ever look back.

“We drove to – “ was all that Kurt managed to sing before Blaine mouth clamped down on his. Well, it’s about time, he thought, before forgetting what thinking was due to Blaine’s tongue invading his mouth. Blaine tasted exactly as he’d always suspected; like cinnamon, although a lot like tequila, which Kurt supposed was his own fault. But Blaine was delicious all the same, and when Kurt kissed him back, hard, satisfaction was only a small part of what he felt.

Because, as much as he wished he didn’t, there was an odd fluttering in his stomach as his lips moved against Blaine’s. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since high school and silly crushes and rejection, not since he’d freed himself from stupid feelings and crushes and allowed himself to experience the physical side, the better side of sex. He moved his hands up Blaine’s back to grab at the back of his sweater, kissing him harder.

I might get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight.

Kurt couldn’t ignore the coincidence of Blaine’s hands finding his ass at that exact moment, but he appreciated the poetry of the whole situation. Plus this, this is what he’d been working towards for all these weeks. Might as well enjoy it now, as well as the satisfaction afterwards.

With Katy Perry blaring in the background, he gently steered them towards his bed. God bless single dorms, he thought momentarily, before thinking godddamn twin beds. Despite him being slender and Blaine being short, there wasn’t nearly enough room for the both of them in the bed, but it hardly mattered, because as far as Kurt was concerned, all he wanted in life, at this moment, was for his body to be pressed into Blaine as hard and as far as possible.

The kisses became more intense and it momentarily occurred to Kurt that this was usually the time that his guys tried to convince themselves they were straight and leave, but instead Blaine’s hands were working their way down Kurt’s buttons, clumsy but insistent. Then, Kurt’s shirt was off, and he was tugging and Blaine’s, and then they were both shirtless, panting against each other. The song has finished by now, and been replaced by another one. Kurt is surprised – he didn’t even specially pick this soundtrack, but still, it’s incredibly sexual.

You can keep your toys in the drawer tonight the voice comes from his sound system. Well then. Kurt’s not one to disagree with the ambient music.

This is always the awkward part, for Kurt. The making out is fine and easy – all the guy has to do is close his eyes and pretend it’s a girl moving over him. But the actual – clothes off, that’s when there is one more dick than usual and things can get awkward.

But, oddly, Blaine is tugging at his pants insistently, failing miserably at zips before sliding his hand – almost impossibly – underneath his waistband and grasping onto his cock purposely. A closet-case, perhaps? Kurt tries to wonder before Blaine starts stroking him. It’s terrible and awkward, of course, because his movements are horribly restricted by the fact that Kurt’s pants are still done up. But it’s hot all the same, because Kurt feels as if – maybe, this once, this guy actually wants it. Helpfully, Kurt unbuttons his jeans, and slides them off. There’s a brief, horrifying moment, when Blaine’s hand isn’t touching him. But soon enough it’s back, stroking with more enthusiasm than before.

Well, fuck. Kurt’s not going to complain. His hand is resting in Blaine’s shoulder blade, but he slowly slides it down his back, feeling, at each point, the muscles working under the surface. He’d often thought that maybe Blaine was a little – pudgy – under his dapper but not-tight clothes. But he hadn’t expected this – toned perfection, and an overall tan. If Blaine hadn’t been on top of him, right now, rubbing his hand up and down his cock, Kurt would have cursed him for not being gay. His hand hovered, awkwardly, at the back of Blaine’s jeans, before Blaine thrust into him, and Kurt forgot about respecting boundaries and taking it slow, because it seemed like, maybe, at this point, Blaine wasn’t going to scare easy.

So he slipped his hand around the front of Blaine’s jeans, and expertly undid them. He pulled them off easily – they weren’t nearly as tight and difficult to take of as Kurt’s – and then it was just boxers and his own pants in the way.

Blaine whined, whined, at him, and started pulling at the sides of Kurt’s jeans, obviously keen to get them off. Wordlessly, Kurt lifted his hips, allowing Blaine to pull them down the whole way, and then off. If Kurt was anyone else, he would have been embarrassed about his lack of underwear, but no. Blaine seemed to, inexplicably, appreciate this particular part of his dress sense.

Kurt was generally pretty savvy about how this worked. He’s slept with enough guys that he knew the point which he would roll over, prepare himself, and then they’d have sex. But he’s never anticipated – this.

Because at that point, Blaine moved down the bed, and took Kurt into his mouth. If Kurt had been capable of coherent thought at this point, he would be impressed by the fact that Straight Blaine showed so much enthusiasm at sucking another boy’s dick. But there it was, proof, as his tongue lathed over the head of Kurt’s cock, licking lightly before taking him into his mouth again and sucking.

Kurt let out an incredibly undignified moan, and couldn’t hold back the words as he choked out, “yes, Blaine, please.”

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, though, when Blaine put his fingers up to his mouth, next to Kurt’s dick, and spat onto them. Kurt always had lubrication on hand, but straight boys were straight boys, and didn’t often think of these things. The unexpected thing was, though, when Blaine fingers didn’t reach for his hole, and instead disappeared, somewhere else, outside Kurt’s field of sight.

But Blaine started moaning louder, the sound reverberating around Kurt’s cock, and he was a little bit confused. Surely, soon, was the point where Kurt would turn over and Blaine would pound into him, feeling that release that can only come with fucking someone purely because you want to.

Blaine moved up the bed at that point, regrettably letting Kurt’s cock fall out of his mouth, before finding his mouth again, and that was nearly as good. Well, it wasn’t, but it was nice all the same.

“Lube?” Blaine said, and Kurt almost wanted to reply - isn’t that my line?” but instead, he grabbed the bottle that was conveniently (well, that he’d put there earlier that evening in preparation) and passes it to Blaine. He watches, in the low light, as Blaine squirts some into his fingers and then –

And then, nothing. Because there’s no awkwardly fumbling around Kurt’s ass, no awkward stabbing and certainly no apologises as Kurt is ill prepared and then thrust into. Because, with wonder, Kurt watches Blaine reach back and do something to his own ass that Kurt can only assume is preparation. Well, this is a new one.

Blaine is moaning over him, rutting into his own fingers, and Kurt wants nothing more than to grab his hand out of the way and take over but – this sight, of Blaine preparing himself, somehow knowing what is coming – it’s too fucking hot to interrupt. Kurt almost dies when he realises that Blaine has three fingers inside himself, his own jagged breathing intermingling with Blaine’s and oh holy Christ, Blaine is grabbing at his cock now.

“I... will you fuck me?” The first words either of them have spoken in a long time, and it breaks the silence in the most delicious way possible. Kurt has done this once or twice before, during the longer of his hook-ups, but it’s never ended well. But something about the way that Blaine’s face had looked while he fucked himself on his own fingers made him think – well, worth a try.

Blaine looks at him expectantly, as if he actually really needs to ask permission. “Yes, yes,” Kurt breathes, before Blaine is finding his cock and positioning it and oh god sinking down on him. The feeling is indescribable, although Kurt has the feeling he’s going to write at least ten different novels trying to write out the words that express exactly what he’s feeling at that moment. Blaine is hovering over him, as if asking permission, before continuing. Kurt grabs his shoulders, for lack of words, and pushes him down, grinding harder against him, as he is fully rested inside him.

“God, fuck, Kurt,” Blaine breathes, in that moment of stillness.

And then, and then he rises up, pulling nearly the whole way off Kurt, making Kurt regret the very moment that this whole thing started, because experiencing something, then losing it, was worse than never knowing it existed at all. Then he was thrusting down again, hard, hard enough to knock the wind out of Kurt – not with force, but with how fucking good it felt.

So, Blaine started to ride Kurt, his hands firmly planted on Kurt’s shoulder’s, forcing Kurt to take the position he’d never experienced before – the top, but so fucking powerless. He was powerless at Blaine moved over him, rutting against him, fucking himself on him, as all Kurt could do was lie there and take it. And love every fucking second of it.

The moment when Blaine brought took his hand off Kurt’s left shoulder to start jerking himself off – that was when Kurt realised he was close, it was close. He didn’t want to come this soon, he realised, because then it would be mission accomplished and hanging out with Blaine would be – pointless.

But Blaine was tightening around Kurt and it felt so amazing that he couldn’t even try to be angsty or weird. The way Blaine was moaning was frankly pornographic and, at that thought, Kurt felt sad that he hadn’t the foresight to tape the whole thing, to play over and over and over again, jerking off desperately at the picture they were making right now.

He came, not entirely unexpectedly, but sooner than he’d wanted. His whole body seized, and he moaned, loudly, spurting into Blaine, his hands holding Blaine’s hips so hard he was sure there would be bruises the next day. He wanted to say, get off, stop, this is too sensitive, too painful, but then Blaine was clutching him, and coming white stripes up and down his chest, and his own discomfort was forgotten. “Kurt, Kurt,” Blaine mumbled out, as his hand stilled on his own cock, finished milking the last few drops out onto Kurt’s stomach.

Well. That was certainly something new, Kurt allowed himself to think, and Blaine delicately removed himself from Kurt’s cock, and flopped (awkwardly) down beside him on their single bed.

Now, Kurt thought. Now was when Blaine ‘casually’ mentioned his girlfriend, and how cool Kurt was, and how he’d never mention this, right? But that didn’t happen. Not at all.

“Kurt – that was... that was amazing.”

“Thanks,” Kurt said. He’d tried for ambivalence, but his traitorous voice had come out more – desperate.

Long, awkward silence. Any moment, Kurt thought. Any moment, and Blaine would awkwardly bring up his love for boobs and the fact he was super super drunk and this was fine, right and Kurt was good at secrets, right?

But, no. “I really want pizza.”

“You what?” Kurt replied.

“I really, really want pizza.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Kurt asked, his voice trying not to border on hysterical. Trying to reaffirm their love for girls, he understood. But pizza? That was weird.

“I... can we order pizza?” Blaine sounded like a seven year old, begging with his babysitter. Kurt sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Blaine was going to be one of those, and grabbed his nightgown off the hook near his bed. Wrapping it around himself, he stepped out of bed, trying to ignore the fact that his softening cock was moist with lube and, Christ, his own come.

“What do you want?” Kurt asked, finding the local pizza joint’s menu.

“Anything with lots of...meat,” was Blaine’s reply. Really? Kurt wanted to respond. But, whatever.

“Fine, fine. I’m ordering with your card, though,” he said, grabbing at Blaine’s wallet, which was helpfully sitting on the kitchenette table.

“Sure, it’s totally worth it,” mumbled Blaine.

Kurt dialled the pizza’s place’s number, and placed his order. “Credit card number, please?” came the response at the end. He flipped open Blaine’s wallet, and nearly choked on his words. To his credit, he managed to reel off the numbers before hanging up.

“BLAINE.”

“Mmmm, yes. Pizza?” was Blaine’s half-awake response.

“You have a LGBT membership card in your wallet,” Kurt said, trying to keep his voice even.

Blaine sat up at that, covering (some of) his nakedness with a sheet, as he turned to look at Kurt.

“Yep.”

“You – What. Why?” Kurt said. Maybe Blaine was an ally. Fair enough. But – a card carrying ally? Really?

“Oh, yeah that.” Blaine said causally. “Well, I’m gay, hence the card.”

“You – what?”

“I have a card. It’s laminated.”

“No, Blaine, the gay part.”

“Oh yeah. I’m gay. Totally gay. Did you not notice?”

Kurt’s brain pretty much exploded at that point. “But you have a girlfriend.”

“No, I don’t. I have a female friend that I’m sometimes friendly with. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Kurt said, seething with anger, but mostly confusion.

“Well, mostly just when I meet a really cute boy who apparently only hooks up with straight boys.”

Kurt just stared at him dumbly. “You – I don’t even. What?”

“Really? You didn’t know – alright, then. When I met you, in class, I thought you were cute. So I asked around about you. What I found out was, you only hook up with straight guys. So, I pretended to be straight. And here were are. Everyone’s a winner, right?”

Kurt continued to stare.

“Seriously, Kurt, you’d better shut your mouth, otherwise I’ll be too tempted to come over and kiss it.”

“You went to all that effort to just – sleep with me?” Kurt said eventually.

“What? Of course not,” Blaine replied breezily. “We’re going to date now. Didn’t you notice? We get along very well. We’re obviously very compatible with sex. I think we should go out. Don’t you?”

“I...what?” Kurt could only respond.

The silence was penetrated by the sound of Kurt’s dorm buzzer. “I... I have to get that,” he said. Blaine stood up quickly, moving towards Kurt before he could get to the door. He caught Kurt’s mouth in a kiss.

“Go out with me?” Blaine asked.

“Well, since you put in all that effort,” Kurt responded , still slightly reeling from the sudden turn of events.

“If that’s how you want to think about it, sure,” Blaine said, smacking Kurt’s ass as he left his room to retrieve the pizza.

Mission accomplished.