“Hey, squirt,” Cooper says, accosting his brother at the breakfast table, messing up his carefully combed and gelled hair. “Guess what?”

“You got that role in the new Michael Bay movie?” Blaine asks, swatting his brother's hands away and nearly jabbing him with the knife he's using to butter his toast.

“I haven't found out about that yet, but I should be hearing back from them any day now,” Cooper says, and Blaine returns to his toast. “No, baby brother. When I woke up this morning, I started thinking about our conversation from yesterday, and long story short, I have found you a sure thing.”

Blaine looks up, face blank, and drops his knife on his plate.

“Wait…what do you mean, you found me a sure thing?”

“I mean a sure thing,” Cooper says, sliding closer to his brother when he hears their mother pass behind them and down the hall. “No questions asked, no strings attached, no guilt involved...”

“I know, Cooper,” Blaine interrupts, lowering his voice. “I saw the movie. But, what do you mean? Have you been looking for someone to…”

“Well, you've been moping non-stop about graduating high school a virgin, so I took care of it.” Cooper beams proudly, snatching the slice of toast from Blaine's fingers before he drops that, too, and takes a bite.

“Okay, you're going to have to do some actual explaining, because I don't understand,” Blaine says, grabbing a napkin and wiping butter off his fingers. He doesn't want his hands to be slippery when he wraps them around his brother's neck. “What do you mean you took care of it?”

“I found you a guy…”

“Do you mean…you got me a hooker?” Blaine whispers. Cooper rolls his eyes at the scandalized tone in his brother's voice. 

“No, squirt. I did some asking around” – Blaine's eyes grow wide, horrified to think who his brother's been talking to about this – “and there's this guy at the country club who…you know…handles these sorts of things…guides young boys like yourself into manhood, so to speak.”

Blaine blinks slowly and shakes his head.

“I…I'm sorry,” Blaine says. “I need more than that, like, how did you get away from this conversation without getting arrested?”

“He goes to your school,” Cooper says, ignoring his brother's sass and emphasizing the next, best part. “He knows you. He's a bit full of himself, but he's a good-looking kid. And apparently, he's quite smitten with you.”

Blaine coughs at the thought of Cooper describing anyone as full of themselves considering his own enormous ego, but overlooks the opportunity to call him on it, flummoxed by the idea that Cooper spent his morning searching for a boy willing to have sex with his younger brother.

“Cooper! You can't solicit people to have sex with me!”

“His name's Sebastian,” Cooper continues, finishing Blaine's slice of toast. “He's your age, he has brown hair and green eyes, and he's going to be in the private locker room behind the badminton courts at three o'clock today…getting soapy…and waiting for you.”

Blaine can't stop staring at his brother, in disgust and in awe, as he gets up from the table.

“But, you know, it's your call. If you want to hold on to that dusty v-card of yours a little longer, you go right ahead.”

***

Blaine pulls in to the country club at 2:30. He'd been struck by an epic attack of butterflies the moment his brother left the table, and nothing Blaine did could quiet them down. Still, Blaine was dead set that he wasn't going to go. It seemed so seedy, so 1950s closeted gay guys meeting in camps in the woods or vacant back alleys for anonymous sex. But Blaine discovered, as the hours ticked by, that he was more curious than he was horrified, not about what kind of boy would agree to do such a thing, but by who at his school was secretly attracted to him. Blaine had considered hopping online and checking the Dalton student directory, but part of him didn't want seeing Sebastian to change his mind one way or the other. Besides, Cooper hadn't given Blaine a last name. There could be dozens of boys in the junior and senior class that have the name Sebastian, who also have brown hair and green eyes.

But 1:30 rolled around and Blaine couldn't take it anymore. Showing up didn't mean he'd have sex with Sebastian. Maybe they could sit down and talk, grab a cup of coffee in the dining room, go for a walk around the grounds. Considering how fast Blaine got hard at the thought that there would be a boy waiting for him in the showers, wanting to have sex with him, eventually led Blaine to the realization that if he went to that locker room, there was no way he'd be leaving a virgin.

Blaine almost threw up over that…twice.

Blaine dressed to the nines for this boy, putting on his nicest pair of dark denim jeans, a brand new white polo, and a navy blue sweater vest. He recognized the irony immediately. He would have to take his clothes off before he met Sebastian, but dressing this way makes him feel confident, and he needs that right now.

Blaine hasn't been to the badminton courts before, and he gets lost trying to find them. He circles the club twice before he stumbles on them, in the farthest far corner, at the head of a remote trail that leads to the golf course, in an area no one seems to come to. The courts themselves are empty, and there isn't another soul in sight. In fact, everything seems eerily silent. He bypasses the public locker room (the one used by guests of members, and members of the club who don't opt for VIP memberships, which his parents always did), and heads for the private locker room. That's when Blaine hears it – water running in the shower, and a voice singing an upbeat Broadway tune, something from the musical Wicked.

He can sing? Blaine thinks, unlocking the door and walking into the locker room. God, he's got a nice voice. How come he's not a Warbler?

He wished his brother had thought to mention that. Blaine would have felt more comfortable knowing that Sebastian was a fan of musical theater, that the two of them had something in common.

Blaine closes the door quietly behind him and locks it, throwing the bolt so no one else can come in.

“Seb---Sebastian?” Blaine calls out with a hiccup in between. The singing continues, and Blaine's mouth goes dry. What if that's not Sebastian singing? What if Sebastian decided not to show up? What if Blaine locked himself in the locker room with a total stranger? If it turns out to be someone else from his school that he knows, he'll leave and drive straight to the east coast, right into the ocean. “Sebastian?”

The singing stops.

“Blaine?” A hand sticks out from behind one of the four shower curtains and waves. “I'm over here.” The hand of creamy pale skin with long, graceful fingers makes a come here motion with an index finger before disappearing behind the white curtain, and Blaine feels weak, everything from his brain to his neck, his stomach to his knees, going wobbly like rubber cement.

Except for his dick. His dick becomes rock hard.

“Okay. I'll be right there,” Blaine says, wincing when his voice goes up a notch at the end and cracks, and a responding chuckle echoes from underneath the sound of the shower spray.

It had taken Blaine a full half hour to get dressed, but he peels off his clothes and hangs them in an empty locker in under five minutes, and even then he takes that long because he becomes stuck on stupid when he gets to his underwear. This is it, he thinks, looking at his maroon briefs, a wet spot growing near the waistline. This is what he wanted. But after this, everything changes.

He just hopes it's worth having sex with an anonymous stranger in the end, that he'll be able to leave this locker room, possibly a different person, but with no regrets.

But he's not an anonymous stranger, Blaine reminds himself. His name is Sebastian. He goes to your school. He likes you.

It had crossed Blaine's mind that maybe this could turn into something between them, but he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Besides, if Sebastian does this often, like his brother said, Blaine wouldn't be able to handle the competition if Sebastian refused to give it up.

But this isn't the time to think about that. First things first. Blaine pulls down his briefs, slips them into the locker with the rest of his clothes, and slams the door shut.

“I hope that means you're on your way,” the boy in the shower says. “It's getting mighty lonely in here.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, shuffling along the tile floor to get to the shower with Sebastian waiting inside. “Yeah, I'm com---“ Blaine pulls the curtain aside and stops talking, the final syllable lodged in his throat, finishing as a whimper when he finally sets eyes on him. Blaine looks the boy up and down from the back as he lathers up his front, and…Oh God.

Blaine had wanted to be smoother than this. He'd even practiced in his car on the drive over – mindless chitchat, a few compliments, gathered together a couple of details about himself that he thought appropriate to share, and questions he wanted to ask. But reality kicks him in the ass, those pre-practiced conversation topics melding into a jumble, and he can barely remember his own name.

Thank God this boy already knows it.

Blaine's seen a few boys naked in his life, from a side view in the shower after boxing practice, while he focused on getting himself clean without an unsightly erection giving him away. He's watched pornos, too - mostly the kinky, free crap he finds on Tumblr - but the guys in those videos always seem detached, surreal. He could fantasize about them for sure, but they weren't flesh and blood to him. They were just a dream.

This boy, he's a bit of a dream, too, but he's also flesh and blood.

He takes Blaine's breath away, and he hasn't even turned arou---shit!

The boy turns to face him, and Blaine's jaw actually drops. Blaine didn't think that happened outside of sitcoms. Apparently it does.

The boy in front of him is trim, cut, obviously athletic, but not in the ways the boys Blaine usually hangs out with are. This boy looks like he could be a swimmer, or a dancer. Whatever he does, he has to be dedicated. Blaine is certain this boy could crush watermelons with his thighs, bounce quarters off his abs, and his dick, well…

“Oh God,” Blaine mutters, this time out loud.

“Hey, Blaine,” the boy says with a flirty smile. “Why don't you come on in? The water's great.”

“I…thanks.” Blaine steps in to the shower, and the boy moves aside so Blaine can join him under the spray. “I…” Blaine makes a second attempt at saying something witty? Relevant? Coherent? At this point, he's really just trying to make it past the word I, but the boy's gazing at him, straight into his eyes, his smile warm and reassuring. He's only spoken a few words, but he doesn't seem at all full of himself.

And he doesn't have green eyes.

“You're staring,” the boy points out with a rush of pink to the apples of his cheeks.

“I…I'm sorry,” Blaine says. (A full sentence. Two words, but it's an encouraging start.) “It's just…well, I thought my brother said you had green eyes.”

“It depends on the lighting,” the boy replies. “Sometimes they can look kinda green, but they're blue.”

“Well, they're a beautiful blue,” Blaine says, and it's not an empty compliment. His eyes are probably the most hauntingly gorgeous eyes Blaine has ever seen.

“Thank you,” the boy says, a shy smile curling his lips. “I'm glad you think so.”

“I do.”

A silence falls between them, but it's not an awkward one. It's full to the brim with anticipation and excitement. Both boys open their mouths to speak, but it's the boy with the singular blue eyes that gets his question out first. “Did you have an idea how you wanted to do this?”

“You're…uh…the expert, I guess?” Blaine asks, feeling ridiculous and unintentionally offensive the second he says it. The boy looks a bit conflicted, but then he laughs.

“I suppose I am,” he says. “Why don't we start things off with a kiss, and see where it goes from there? Hmm?”

“Oh,” Blaine says, butterflies stirring up again. “Alright.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Blaine?”

“N-no,” Blaine admits. “Not really.”

“Relax,” the boy says, raising a hand to Blaine's face, tracing the paths of a few drops down his cheek with his thumb. “It's not as difficult as you think it is.”

“Okay.” Blaine licks his lips. “Should I kiss you, or do you want to…”

“Kiss me, Blaine,” the boy whispers.

Blaine nods. His eyes flick to the boy's lips, and then back to his eyes. Blaine can't decide which he prefers looking at more. The boy's eyes are mesmerizing, but his lips, full and beckoning, glistening from the steam around them and with the tiniest of droplets gathered around the contours, are equally fascinating. Blaine's never had this opportunity to examine another boy's face, or his body, this way – close and intimate. Blaine rolls onto the balls of his feet an inch to reach those lips, the boy brings himself down an inch, and they meet in the middle. The boy's eyes flutter shut, but Blaine waits a second after their lips meet. He wants to remember this first kiss for the rest of his life. The world stops for a second as he stares at the boy in front of him. When Blaine closes his eyes, the world starts spinning again. Hands touch his shoulders, slide down his back, following the lines of his muscles with light fingertips. When they reach his hips, they settle on Blaine's lower back, massaging circles into his skin.

Something in Blaine takes over, some fantasy in his heart that he's lived a hundred times in his mind, a situation similar to this one, except it didn't necessarily take place in a shower. It could have happened in his bedroom, or on a beach under the moonlight, or in a field of lilac on a warm spring day. It wasn't about the where, it was about who, and not the outside trappings, but the things that really matter when you're about to have sex with someone, about to show yourself for the insecure, vulnerable human that you are – kindness, compassion, patience.

The fact that this boy in front of him, moving his lips against Blaine's, wrapping him tenderly in his arms, happens to be spectacular to behold, is icing on the cake.

The boy pulls away, only a breath's distance, dropping a kiss on Blaine's forehead, then one on his nose.

“How…how was that?” Blaine asks as the boy continues the path to his chin.

“That was…incredible,” he says with a happy sigh. “I think I could spend a whole afternoon doing just that.”

“Would you like…uh…is that…all you want to do?” Blaine asks, anxiety getting the better of him as annoying, intrusive thoughts niggle at his brain. They should know each other better, right? Talk a lot more? Share their passions? Maybe date a few times? This is all going too fast, isn't it? No one in their right mind would hook up in a bathroom to have sex with a stranger…would they?

Actually, Blaine's pretty certain that there are businesses that operate under that exact premise, but that doesn't help him any.  

“No,” the boy says, determination in his eyes. “That's not all I want to do.”

“Good,” Blaine covers quickly. “Me neither. Nope. I'm in this…in it to win it.”

The boy gasps, and Blaine drops his head in embarrassment. The boy laughs out loud, his chest shaking against Blaine's as he hugs him tighter, filling Blaine with a heat that makes the shower water seem cold in comparison.

“Hey, Blaine” – the boy shifts Blaine's position in his arms so he can see him better – “I have a question.”

“Shoot,” Blaine says, more relaxed and feeling a bit silly.

“Did you know how you wanted to…” the boy starts, the question stopped by a giggle.

“I'm not sure I understand,” Blaine says, giggling himself.

“I mean, did you want to…uh…” the boy turns to the soap dish and grabs a condom, holding it out to Blaine.

“Oh” - Blaine stares at the blue square in the boy's hand, his face frozen solid, his expression locked in place - “w-would you…please?”

“Oh” - the boy's eyes widen as if he didn't expect that as an answer - “Oh, sure. Sure, I will. No problem. Let me…” Blaine steps out of his embrace, giving the boy space to put the prophylactic on. He seems as nervous as Blaine, or maybe he's just eager, but it looks like his hands are shaking when he rips open the condom wrapper, pulls it out, and slips it on. He even fumbles once, almost dropping it.

Blaine decides to take it as a compliment.

“Okay,” the boy says, blowing out a breath. He looks into Blaine's eyes, the blue switching slightly - not to green, but to a steely grey. He leans forward and kisses Blaine again, a subtle slide of his lips over Blaine's mouth, one last taste before they get started. Blaine doesn't hear the sound of a lube bottle popping open with this boy's lips against his; doesn't register the chill, slick finger circling his entrance when those lips travel across his cheek to his jaw. But he feels when it carefully probes inside, with this boy's tongue curling around his left nipple, the tip tracing across the pebbly surface, the swirling motion of his tongue mimicking the swipe of his fingertip around Blaine's hole, and then in…around, and then in. When the boy drops to his knees and takes Blaine in his mouth, two fingers slipping their way past his entrance, Blaine almost loses it then and there.

“Oh…oh Jesus Christ!” Blaine moans. He about screams it actually, loud enough that the boy has to pull off and laugh, burying his head against Blaine's hip.

“Shhh,” the boy says. “I think they can hear that outside. If some guy flubs a shot because of us, were screwed.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, his voice shaking. He's never had anyone's mouth on him before, never had anyone drop to their knees for him. Looking at the boy staring up at him, sultry smile on his lips parting as he goes back to it, watching Blaine's reaction, Blaine knows he can get addicted to this, and to this boy, really damn quick.

Blaine feels his body rising to the verge, becoming restless, his hands crawling up the tile behind him, trying to find some place to grab hold. His fingers end up threaded in his own mess of wet curls, carding through and tugging as the boy on his knees slowly drives him insane.

“Oh God, Seb---oh God…” he moans, tries to call the boy by his name, but he can't get the word out. Nothing other than oh and God seems to be within the boundaries of his vocal reach.

The boy pulls off Blaine completely and stands, gently turning him towards the wall. Blaine swallows at the sensation of hands parting his cheeks, blunt pressure filling the space where fingers had been, and then at the boy's hard dick breaching his entrance, inch by inch, moving forward, accompanied by a low, erotic groan from the boy behind him, tremors from his legs traveling through Blaine's whole body. There are a couple of moments of pain, of burning stretch, but with every one of Blaine's whimpers, the boy stops, takes a breath, kisses Blaine's shoulders, runs trembling fingers down his spine until Blaine nods his head, telling the boy he can start again.

Blaine can't even guess how long it takes before the boy's body presses flush against his, his breath in his ear, heart racing against his back, hands leaning on the tile with fingers curled, as if he's holding something back.

“It's alright,” Blaine stammers. “You can…you know…”

“It's not that,” the boy says, voice rough with restraint, “I…I don't want to rush. I want this to last. I want it to be good…for you.”

“O-oh…” Blaine feels giddy. It was enough that this boy wanted him, but this…this wasn't something Blaine expected. It's his fantasy come true.

And he owes it mostly to his conceited, ass-hat brother, Cooper.

Crap.

When the boy starts to move, he tries hard not to push. He draws it out, with pauses in between to kiss Blaine's neck, lick drops of water from the juncture to his shoulder, but soft and slow combined with the constant start and stop, start and stop, becomes maddening to Blaine. So many times the boy comes close to something deep inside that feels like heaven when he brushes against it, but instead of staying, instead of keeping pressure there, he pulls away too fast, and Blaine whines with despair.

“Is something wrong?” the boy asks, putting on the brakes, afraid he's hurting Blaine without knowing it.

“No,” Blaine says, shaking his head. “Not at all. It's...I…I need you to…”

“Yeah…”

“More,” Blaine spits out, for lack of anything more erudite to say. “Faster and more and just…more…please…”

“Alright,” the boy says. “If that's what you want.” He gives an experimental thrust, hitting that spot, and Blaine gasps. He does it again, and Blaine's knees start to buckle.

“Yes,” Blaine says, his whine of despair turning into a plea – raw and indecent with its blatant, uncensored want. “Yes…oh God…just like that…please…”

The boy grabs hold of Blaine's hips and hits him hard, in the same way, over and over, and Blaine's eyes roll.

“Oh God…” Blaine moans, feeling idiotic that he hasn't said much else but Oh God since he's been there, but the boy behind him doesn't seem to mind.

“You like that?” he mutters, fingers digging into Blaine's hips to hold him steady. “You like that, baby? Just keep moaning, and I'll do this as much as you want.”

“Oh God,” Blaine repeats, taking him up on it. “Oh God…oh God…oh God…”

The boy puts his hand on Blaine's shoulder and pushes him forward, but then changes his mind and pulls Blaine close, readjusting his hold on Blaine's hips but otherwise keeping his chest flush to Blaine's back as best he can. Blaine braces his hands against the tile wall so he can push back and keep them pressed close together. This boy's hips slamming into his ass is perfection, but only because he keeps his body against Blaine's, his lips licking and sucking along his neck. Blaine bends for him, giving him room to kiss and mark.

“Oh…oh fu---” the boy stutters. He reaches up with one hand, slides it up Blaine's chest and neck to grab his chin and turn his face toward him. His other hand slides down to grab Blaine's dick, but the boy doesn't stroke, just holds him while he kisses him, allowing Blaine to take over and do the work. Blaine moans into the boy's mouth as he moves, bucking back faster and faster, unable to stop.

“Blaine,” the boy groans. “Oh, Blaine…”

The sound of his name on the boy's lips propels Blaine's orgasm from dynamic to stratospheric. He tries to breathe his way through it, but he can't quite remember how. He tries to stop his hips, afraid the boy behind him needs him to, but his body refuses to obey. He's a raw nerve, a single muscle, a mindless entity with one goal.

“Blaine,” the boy murmurs, strain weakening his voice. “Oh, Blaine…sweetheart, Blaine…Blaine…Blaine!” The boy snakes an arm around Blaine's waist, catching him before he hits the floor, his knocking knees failing to keep him upright any longer.

“Sorry,” Blaine chuckles. “I'm…I'm sorry…I…”

“Does that mean you enjoyed yourself?” the boy asks. “Or were you trying to escape?”

“No, I…I mean yes, I…oh, Jesus Christ!”

The boy pulls Blaine up and helps him stand. He leans against the tile wall with Blaine resting against his chest, listening to his heart beat return to normal. The boy holds Blaine, running his fingertips up Blaine's arm from his elbow to his shoulder, then back down again, seeming not at all eager to be rid of him, which surprises Blaine. He's not sure how this usually works, but Blaine would imagine that cuddling's not necessarily part of the procedure.

Maybe he's doing it especially for Blaine…because he likes Blaine.

Blaine would like to think so.

They don't talk about what happened. Blaine doesn't want to say something dorky like, “That was great,” which it was – incredible, indescribable, magnificent – or the even worse, “Thanks,” especially when the boy behind him suddenly becomes quiet, pensive.

“We should probably wash up,” he recommends. “They have the showers in these locker rooms metered, and they send someone out to check when the water runs too long, you know, for water conservation and all that.”

“I didn't know that,” Blaine says, hiding his disappointment at having to be let go.

“Yeah, well, I work here. I know all the behind-the-scenes secrets.”

Blaine spots a bottle of body wash that he suspects the boy brought in with him, the label showing its scent as vanilla and orange.

“Do you mind if I…” Blaine reaches out for it, asking before he takes it. If he can borrow some, it might be the only other tangible thing Blaine will have to remember this boy by for a while.

“Not at all,” the boy says, but instead of letting Blaine take it, he picks up the bottle himself. He takes a puff he'd brought with it from where he has it hanging around the cold water knob, squeezes a dollop of body wash on it, and starts to lather it up. He puts the lathered puff to Blaine's shoulder, washing him, rubbing in soothing circles. Blaine's breath shudders, the care this boy puts in to cleaning him making him half-hard again, though honestly, he just wants to be held some more.

“So, was that really your first time?” the boy asks, scrubbing Blaine's chest. “Because I feel like shit that I didn't bring you roses or something.”

An adorable quirk of a smile, one that twinkles in Blaine's eyes, starts on Blaine's face.

“That's sweet of you to think of that, Sebastian, but…”

“Kurt,” the boy says, cutting Blaine off in a hurry. “Actually, my name is Kurt. I just tell people it's Sebastian because I think it sounds, you know, more mature, and sophisticated.” Kurt makes a face that Blaine doesn't quite understand, but he figures it's probably from having to confess that.

“Kurt,” Blaine repeats. “I like it. I think…it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know” – Blaine cringes, knowing that the next words out of his mouth have the potential to come out horrendously – “my brother said you…uh…do this…um…all the time, but…”

“I…I don't, to tell you the truth,” Kurt admits bashfully, moving down Blaine's legs to his feet. “I told your brother that because I didn't want him to think I was some kind of noob. The truth is” – Kurt stands and gives Blaine a quick peck on the lips – “I'm here because I want to be here.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, becoming less embarrassed and more hopeful. He rinses off after Kurt finishes bathing him, waiting for Kurt to scrub himself and turn off the water. Blaine exits the shower first, grabbing a towel from the clean towel rack and wrapping it around his waist. Kurt, on the other hand, squeegees off with his hands and walks out of the shower naked. He heads to one of the lockers, sans cover up, and Blaine nearly chokes on his question. “Uh…well, if you're not doing anything, do you think maybe you and me…could go get some coffee?”

“I…” Kurt stops, staring at the locker in front of him, at his clothes hanging, black khakis and a blue polo, which looks to Blaine like it might be some kind of uniform. He's seen those same blue polos on employees here before – “I'm meeting someone for lunch in about half an hour.”

“Oh,” Blaine says. He opens his locker and pulls out his clothes, starting to redress. No need to embarrass himself any further. Even if Kurt likes him, Blaine knew what this was. “Oh, yeah. No, I understand.”

“No,” Kurt says, realizing what his remark sounded like, “it's not what you think. I'm having lunch with my dad. It's a little hard to talk about. It's…kind of an anniversary.”

“Oh.” Blaine peeks up at Kurt from over the lockers, his smile of relief positively effervescent.

“But it should only take a couple of hours, and then I'm free after that,” Kurt adds. “Call me? Maybe we could go to a movie?”

“Yeah,” Blaine says. He takes his phone out of his jeans pocket, walks over to Kurt, and hands it to him. “Yeah, I'd like that.” Kurt takes Blaine's phone and inputs his number, sending himself a text so that he can get Blaine's as well. Blaine watches, biting his already swollen lower lip till it's nearly twice its size. Kurt hands him the phone back, and Blaine cradles it in his hand as if it had become a holy relic.

“You'll call me, right?” Kurt asks.

“I'll call you,” Blaine promises. “I'll definitely call you.” Blaine slips the phone in his pocket, taking a step back on his way out the door, but then hurries forward for one last kiss.

“Hold me?” Blaine begs at his first breath.

“But…you're all dressed, and I'm still wet.”

“I don't care,” Blaine says, unwilling to leave Kurt's lips.

Kurt puts his arms around Blaine and holds him. They'd stopped kissing, but they stand together in each other's embrace, enjoying the experience to its fullest until it can come around again.

“You can't come back if you don't leave,” Kurt says with a sad smile.

“You're right,” Blaine agrees, backing away with Kurt's arms reluctant to let go. Kurt's hands slide along the length of Blaine's arms until they reach his hands, fingertips brushing.  

Blaine finally leaves as another boy, tall like Kurt, with brown hair like Kurt's, and amused green eyes, enters the locker room. Blaine, who had taken out his phone to stare at the newest entry to his address book, doesn't look at the new boy, doesn't notice when he spins on his heel and stares at Blaine's ass, wolf-whistling under his breath. This new boy walks up to Kurt, fully dressed and tying up his boots, and bumps him with his hip, hard enough to make him skip a step.

“Hey! Watch it!” Kurt hisses, hopping back to his original spot.

“So,” the new boy in the locker room says, “did you have fun?”

“You could say that,” Kurt answers with a rosy blush that has nothing to do with the hot water he came out of.

“Oh, put away the pathetic heart eyes, Hummel, and tell me…how was it deflowering the legendary Blaine Anderson?”

“Sebastian” - Kurt gives his friend a goofy smile - “I definitely owe you one.”

“I've seen the ass on that boy, and yes” - Sebastian ruffles Kurt's hair, which would normally get him swatted, but Kurt doesn't even flinch - “yes, you do.”