“Oh, God, yes, that feels so good, Blaine, please don't stop, don't ever stop,” Kurt babbled.

Blaine smiled and continued working his left hand, reaching over to the bedside table with his right.  He managed to push the pump on the top of the bottle, pouring oil into his palm.  Only a little dripped to the bedside table as he tilted his hand to let the oil run down to his fingers.  He looked at Kurt, spread out naked beneath him on the bed, face down, and took a deep breath.  He hoped that the pleasure currently being caused by his left hand would be enough to distract Kurt from the pain he was about to inflict with his right.  He slowly but firmly began to press with two fingers of his right hand.

“Ow!  Stop, Blaine, please, it hurts, it hurts so much!  I can't do this,” Kurt cried out. 

Blaine could hear the tears in his voice, and felt guilty, but if they were going to get anywhere, this was a necessary step.  “Shhh,” he soothed.  “Try to relax.  You know it'll hurt less if you can just relax.”

“I know.  I'm trying, but I can't.  It just hurts too much.  Please stop, I can't do this, we'll have to find another way, I can't take this,” Kurt begged.

“Baby, you can do this.  You can get through this.  I know you can, and if you can, think about how good you'll feel when it's over.  You always love the way you feel afterwards,” Blaine tried to calm Kurt.  It was bad enough that he was this tense, but he was starting to sound panicky, and if he panicked this was never going to work.

Kurt was now taking deep breaths, in and out, trying to work through the pain.  “That's good, Baby, just breathe,” Blaine encouraged.  Once, Kurt had held his breath when in pain and had passed out, and that would definitely not help.

“It's not helping,” Kurt gritted out through his teeth before yelling out, “Ouch! I can't take any more!  Ease up, please, please.”

Blaine had just increased the pressure he was using.  He didn't let up, but held the pressure and didn't increase it anymore, even though he knew he was soon going to have to do so.  “God, Kurt, how on earth are you so tight?  We did this just last night, how can you possibly already be so tight again?”  Blaine asked him.

“Because the choreographer on this show is a fucking sadist!”  Kurt exclaimed.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.  When Kurt saw the ad on the subway, he envisioned all the romantic possibilities.  He already knew Blaine was good at massage, something he had discovered during his senior year at NYADA when rehearsals for Cassandra July's senior show left him stiff, sore and aching every night.  Blaine had discovered Kurt had similar talents the next year when an intermural football game between Blaine's fraternity at NYU and their arch rivals had resulted in several pulled muscles to go along with the bragging rights earned by winning the game.  When they were riding the subway together on the way to separate auditions the next year and Kurt glanced up and saw the advertisement for the massage school, it seemed to be serendipity.

“Just think, Blaine,” he implored.  “We already know we're both good at it.  We both hate food service.  If we got licensed to do massage therapy, we could stop waiting tables.  Doing it together would be so much fun.”  In reality, he was thinking of all the fun they could have putting their new-found knowledge of anatomy and how to make someone feel good to use in the bedroom.

“I'm not so sure,” Blaine said, doubtfully.  He seemed to know that Kurt wasn't telling the truth about why he was so excited about the massage school.

Eventually, Kurt won him over, and they enrolled in massage school.  Their ability to practice on each other at home meant they excelled and graduated at the top of their class.  Recommendations from instructors led to jobs in an exclusive Manhattan spa, where they quickly became two of the most popular massage therapists.  They were requested enough that the spa allowed them flexible schedules to accommodate their auditions, rehearsals and performances in order to keep them from quitting.  Blaine laughed at how right Kurt was about the job situation.

When their schedules actually allowed them to have enough time together, they did occasionally explore the romantic or erotic possibilities of their massage skills.  However, more often, they practiced on each other in situations like tonight.  Kurt often came home with stiff, tight muscles; every choreographer seemed determined, upon seeing how flexible he was, to push the limits of that flexibility, and it took a toll.  Blaine, on the other hand, was much less flexible, and more prone to injury; Kurt often used massage as part of the physical therapy Blaine needed to recover from his injuries.  Tonight, there would be no romantic massage.

As usual, Blaine was trying to get Kurt loose enough to dance the next day; if left until morning, his muscles would stiffen until he felt that he couldn't move.  “Breathe, Baby,” Blaine reminded him.  Slowly, he felt Kurt begin to relax.  “Are you ready?”  Kurt nodded, and Blaine increased the pressure.  Nearly an hour and a half later, and more than two hours after they had started, Blaine was done.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm.  So much better,” Kurt sighed.  “I just want to collapse in bed and sleep now.

“Good,” Blaine said, before laughing as Kurt's stomach rumbled loudly.  “I think maybe we should get something to eat first, though.  Do we have anything?”

“No,” Kurt admitted.  “I was going to shop on the way home, but my back was killing me.  I wasn't even sure I was going to make it home, much less to the market and then home carrying groceries.”

“Cereal?”

“Umm, I'm pretty sure we're out.”

“Okay, let's go grab something at the deli on the corner.  I'm afraid if we order in you'll pass out before it gets here and I won't be able to wake you up,” Blaine told him.  “Get dressed.”

Getting up and getting dressed was pretty low on the list of things Kurt wanted to do, but he couldn't argue with anything Blaine had said, and he was responsible for the situation, since he'd blown off shopping when it was his turn.

A few minutes later, they were standing on the landing locking their door when their neighbors stepped out.  “Way to go, Blaine!”  Todd said with a wink, as Bethany giggled.

“What?”  Kurt asked, confused, before it all came rushing back to him.  The first night in their apartment, they had been treated to an audio performance, in three acts, that would have put any porn film to shame.  Realizing the walls were paper thin and anything could be heard through them, they both went to great lengths to be as quiet as possible during lovemaking.  But it had never occurred to Kurt that he might need to be quiet about other things.  Blushing, he looked at Blaine and stammered, “Oh, no.  Oh, my God!  They think they heard . . . .”

Blaine just shrugged and smiled.  “We were going to dinner, right?”  He reminded Kurt, taking his hand and leading him to the staircase.