"If I get handed another assignment entitled Miss Lopez Boobs Appreciation I swear to god I am going to pin these little fuckers down one by one and make them rewrite it with their teeth and blood."

She threw herself into the chair so hard the coffee in her hand splashed across her fingers and the table. Rachel sighed and petted the top of her head softly until Santana shrugged her off with a groan.

"They're just kids, Santana."

"They're assholes."

"You were one once," she reminded over her coffee cup, turning back to the half graded papers in front of her with a smile.

"An asshole?"

"A kid. And…well probably an asshole one at that – I'm just saying!" She finished quickly with a flinch and a laugh at Santana's half-hearted glare her way, "Just saying."

Santana scoffed and propped her feet up on the chair in front, crossing them at the ankles.

"Yeah. Remind me why the fuck I came back to be around them every day?"

"Recapturing the glamour and promise of your lost youth?"

"Please, Berry. My youth was not lost. My youth was fucking fantastic, but I for one am glad that it's over. Now at least I can do all the things I was already doing, just legally."

"Except for the ones that are still outlawed in certain states."

Santana grinned into her coffee cup.

"Ohh, sassy Miss Berry. If you weren't already spoken for I would have you right here on the table in front of…hello there. Who's Mr Hottie McDreamboat and where can I get – no, wait. False alarm."

Rachel looked up, frowning and Santana waved her fingers airily.

"He's wearing a sweatervest."

Rachel turned, looking over her shoulder at the culprit who chose that moment to glance up and catch their stares. He jumped, blushed, dripped coffee into his lap and blushed even harder.

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Berry. Berry. Stop making eyes at him over your java I feel nauseous."

"He's adorable."

"God, he's not a kitten or a baby. Although he's dressed like a disgusting combination of the two."

"I think he's new," she hissed, stage-whispering behind her hand with a well-informed nod.

"So? I've already got you to bothering me; I don't need another hopeless case with a face made of eyebrows following me around."

"Oh please," Rachel whined, giving up all pretence of keeping her voice down as she clasped her hands together. Santana watched the tips of his ears redden as he stared at the book in front of him, a hopeless attempt to pretend he wasn't listening, "Please can we keep him?"

"Oh my god. Rach, I can smell the sci-fi and literature nerdiness from here."

But Rachel wasn't listening anymore, beckoning the man over with an exaggerated eagerness in her face, nodding at his widened eyes.

Santana groaned and dropped her head back against the wall because of course she was going to be stuck with two over-enthusiastic hobbits to break up the monotony of asshole kids all day. Knowing her luck she'd be forced to hear them trade tips on how to dress like a child and a grandparent simultaneously while she drowned her boredom in spiked coffee and suddenly the idea of bringing vodka to work every day was looking more and more appealing.

She dug her feet into the chair as he tried to pull it out, locking them over the plastic until he was tugging futilely and growing steadily redder. Rachel swatted her shoulder.

"Ignore Santana, she's never quite grown out of schoolyard bullying."

He sat soundlessly in the empty chair between them.

"So," prompted Rachel, her tone dropping to something kind and encouraging, "What's your name?"

"Blaine. Anderson. I'm…I'm new," he shrugged, smiling at her and toying with the polystyrene rim of his cup, "Only temporary."

"I'm Rachel, Drama and Vocals. This is Santana, and yes she's always like this."

"Oh. And um…what do you teach?"

"The turgid how-to survival guide of Lima Heights," she titled her cup in a mocking salute and drained the last mouthful. He blinked at her behind his glasses.

"She teaches Spanish," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. "So when did you start?"

"Today actually. My first class is in an hour," he fumbled with a sheet of paper pulled from his pocket, worn and refolded so many times it was barely readable, "Class 11B?"

Santana choked on her coffee, spluttering until Rachel patted her on the back.

"Oh my god," she gasped when she could breathe again, eyes streaming with barely concealed laughter, "Oh my god."

"Santana," Rachel warned, shaking her head.

"Oh come on, Berry. That's Hummel's class. Oh this is going to be priceless."

Blaine looked between them, a faint crease between his eyebrows.

"Hummel?"

"Kurt Hummel. He's fine," Rachel insisted, her eyes a little wider than before and she might teach drama but even Blaine could see through the poor attempt to convince him.

"He's vicious," Santana said with a grin.

"He's…a little rough around the edges," Rachel tried again."

"Honey, he doesn't have any edges. He's going to chew you up and spit you out all over that hideous sweatervest and I am going to sit here and laughwhile it happens. You'll be lucky to walk out of there in one piece."

Blaine blanched slightly, looking from her to Rachel and back again as though searching for the desperate reassurance that they were in fact, joking.

His face fell slightly when he seemed to realise that they weren't, and even Rachel gave up the pretence of comfort in favour of staring hard into her coffee for a moment.

"So…what did you say you taught, again?"

Blaine looked down at the still-damp stain on his pants, pressed his lips together for a moment until his cheeks were as red at the bowtie at his throat and mumbled something.

"Sorry what? I couldn't hear you over your awful colour combinations."

"Sex Education."

This time, even Rachel didn't try to hold back her peals of laughter.

So maybe Blaine Anderson wasn't what you would call an automatic preference when it came to choosing Sex Ed teachers, god knows he wouldn't do it if he had the choice. But he was a substitute; he was well-versed in everything from Nazi Germany to quadratic equations and sometimes, just sometimes, he would be called upon when schools were in need of condom specific knowledge.

It didn't happen very often, but it did happen. And when it did, he would sigh and close his eyes, rub his temples for a moment before saying "Yes. Of course. That would be fine," through tightly gritted teeth, hang up the phone and groan.

Blaine knew he was a good teacher. He was passionate and clever, and despite the fact that he'd never quite grown out of the awkward and clumsy adolescent shyness he'd been graced with as a teenager, he knew what he was doing. And he loved teaching.

Sure, he still got that twinge of nerves right before he entered a classroom, like he was taking the spotlight for the first time, every time. But it was a subtle sort of thrill, like the need to share and teach and educate.

Even if sometimes it called for a box of condoms and several pamphlets on STD's like the handful he was clutching in sweaty palms as he backed the door open, pressing the handle down with his elbow and entering the chaos.

He sees him straightaway.

The class have been there at least ten minutes, loud chatter and paper aeroplanes and conversations that don't stop even as the box hits the desk with a bang and Blaine nudges the chair out with his heel.

Teenagers move fast, like they run on the constant kick of caffeine and invincibility and it's only natural that Blaine is drawn immediately to the stillness of one of them.

He's at the back, in the middle like centre stage. Feet in combat boots propped up against the desk and chair pushed back until it was teetering right on the two back legs. His head was back so far that all Blaine could see was the twist of his Adams apple in his throat, and the boy could pass for asleep if it wasn't for the bright pink bubble blowing from his mouth, snapping and pulled back in by the dart of a pink tongue and the flex of his cheek as he chewed.

"Alright, alright!" Blaine said, raising his voice until the awareness that there was a teacher in the room seemed to dawn on the students faces. The din faded to sparse mutters as they settled into seats, and suddenly there was just the sharp pop of a bubble at the back and then silence.

"I'm Professor Anderson, and I'm here to take your annual Senior year Sex Education lesson."

There were laughs, like there always was and stifled noises behind hands.

Blaine opened his mouth again, but a voice from the back cut him off.

"Why?"

He was staring at the ceiling, head still back as far as it could go and one hand toying lightly with a soft brown flick of hair. His shirt was twisted up his arm, short sleeves tight and stretched over the flex of his bicep with each movement.

Well that put Blaine off.

"I'm…I'm sorry?"

The boy looked down, raising the arch of one eyebrow even higher and his lips twisted into a smirk.

"I said, why?"

High voice was high and sharp, lilting and teasing and it set Blaine teeth on edge like nails across a chalkboard.

He moved to the front of the desk, ignoring the sweatiness of his palms and the way the collar stuck to the back of his neck.

"Why? Because your school insists that all senior students –"

"No," Kurt laughed, mocking and raising his eyebrows even further with a grin, "I mean why did they get a virgin to teach Sex Ed class?"

Blaine's cheeks flamed among the gasps and muffled laughter. He could feel the eyes of the entire class on him, waiting.

"You're Kurt Hummel, I presume."

"Oh, how did you guess?"

"Your reputation precedes you."

Kurt's chair fell forwards with a bang, his elbows propped against the desk surface as he laced his fingers and balanced his sharp chin on top of them.

Fuck.

He was gorgeous.

Kurt Hummel's face was all lips and cheekbones, sharp angles and the soft bloom of a stained pink mouth spread into a smug grin as he chewed his gum with a blatant crassness.

"Really? Dare I ask what was said?"

Blaine was clenching his jaw, mild irritation running through his veins and fuck he was suddenly sixteen again and being laughed at for stuttering during a class presentation.

"They told me that you'd chew me up and spit me out, if I was lucky."

Kurt's lips pursed and twisted, eyes gleaming.

"Well they were wrong about one thing."

He leaned forwards, the collar of his thin shirt dipping until Blaine could see the fragile shape of his collarbones and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I swallow."

Blaine's breath caught in his throat.

He'd seen levels of impropriety before, hundreds of them.

But they'd never shot down his spine like this before. They'd never left him open mouthed and speechless, burning hot and suddenly uncomfortably tight inside his loose-fitting slacks.

Student. Student. Student. Asshole student. Gorgeous asshole student with a fucking perfect mouth talking about swallowing.

Blaine felt as though his brain had been bleached clean, wiped and empty and suddenly faint and Kurt was raising his chin with a jutting sense of pride that Blaine just wanted to slap off him and he'd never felt this sort of anger towards a student before.

Not the sort of anger that seemed to blaze inside him, suddenly indistinguishable from desire and want and need.

"The average mouthful of semen contains 7 calories."

Blaine flinched as soon as the words left his mouth because where the fuck had that come from, and he really needed to do something about his brain's incessant need to revert back to facts when he was stressed.

Kurt didn't even blink, hardly phased even as the class roared in pandemonium around them and Blaine wondered just how fired he was going to get for this.

"Mmm," Kurt's voice had dropped to something low and gravelly, a smoky undertone and half-lidded eyes under his dark lashes, "I love it when guys talk nutritional to me."

Blaine was panicking.

This was too far, fuck too much. He was a professional with a job to do, not a teenager engaging in pithy sexualised banter with the school jackass, and Kurt seemed to have lost interest as he tilted his chair back again and stared out of the window. One foot braced against the edge of his desk and fuck was he wearing leather pants?

But Kurt's eyes were off him and suddenly the chokehold was gone and Blaine could breathe, just barely. He was suddenly violently aware of the class around him, seemingly torn between laughter and a stunned silence and Blaine managed to shake his head and forced out a wan smile before he turned away.

He half-scrambled behind his desk in jerky movements and he was not thinking about the tight slip of Kurt's legs wrapped in thick leather, the clench of his muscles as though dipped in black liquid and he sat down heavily, crossing his legs tight and tipping the box until the contents were strewn over the desk.

He hadn't had sex for far too long, and having an obnoxiously promiscuous student licking his lips and smiling like that wasn't helping matters and fuck, Blaine was so going to hell as soon as he made it out of this lesson.

His speech was default as he held up the condom packet; it was the one he always used. You know what this is, I assume. You've seen them before, you know what they're used for and eventually the class quietened down and actually listened. By the time Blaine got round to handing out condoms, perching himself on the edge of the desk and laughing along with them.

He'd almost forgotten bout Kurt's presence until a loud scoff sounded through the noise. Almost.

"Kurt? Why aren't you taking part?"

Kurt scoffed again, stretching his arms over his head with a wide yawn and his shirt rode high enough to turn Blaine's mouth completely dry. Sharp glances of hipbones and the ripple of a pale stomach vanishing into dark, tight leather.

"You think I need to learn how to put condoms on?"

"I think everyone needs to –"

He cut Blaine off with a faintly repulsed tone, his nose wrinkling, "Maybe you and everyone else in this class needs to worry when it comes to correctly protecting your adorably disgusting hetero-normative sexual encounters. Luckily I don't have to worry about how to put a condom on."

Blaine frowned, his mouth opening and closing noiselessly for a moment. The rest of the class carried on around them, heedless.

"You…don't wear condoms?"

"No. I just usually have guys to put them on for me before I fuck them."

He'd lost his seductive tone. That wasn't flirty, that was defensive. Obvious, like he was challenging Blaine with a flaunt of sexuality and Blaine wondered how many teachers had given him a hard time for it. How many students had beaten him down before Kurt learned to fight back?

The bell rang, cutting through the room.

"Next lesson we're doing STD's!" Blaine called after the thronging crowds, watching the door slam shut with a sigh.

And then he was hyperaware of the presence still left in the room behind him.

He turned, and Kurt Hummel was sitting gracefully on the edge of his desk, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed and a strawberry pink bubble bursting from his lips.

"Kurt."

"Yes sir?"

No oh god no.

Blaine moved around him, ignoring the knock and sway of Kurt's legs as they swung and hit the wood of his desk over and over, and sat quickly in the chair.

"Kurt. I'm your teacher, please get off my desk."

Kurt rolled his eyes and jumped from the table, moving behind Blaine and out of his vision until he was stuck staring straight ahead and feeling Kurt behind him. He could smell him, all smoke and sugar and leather and teenage boy, could feel the heat of his body.

"You know," his breath gusted against Blaine's ear, palms pressed to his shoulders enough to hold him steady in the chair and thumbs digging into his shoulder blades, "I never did get to practise putting a condom on. Maybe I do need a hands-on demonstration."

"Kurt."

It was supposed to be a warning, an instruction. It wasn't supposed to be a hushed groaned that left Blaine's eyes flickering shut and Kurt's chuckle ghosting over the back of his neck.

"Yes?"

"Stop it."

He laughed again and then there were teeth against Blaine's ear, the wet slide of a tongue and his eyes rolled back into his head, an embarrassingly loud moan breaking from his lips as Kurt's fingers moved in a slow, repetitive rhythm over his shirt.

"Make me."

"But –"

"Ohh," his voice was thick and rough, rasping against Blaine's throat, "You've been hot for it ever since I mentioned swallowing. Those pants leave little to the imagination, Mr Anderson."

Blaine choked, fingers dug into the armrests of his chair as his head lolled back against Kurt's shoulder. His hips were straining upwards, legs spreading brazen as far as they could in the confines of the chair and Kurt was laughing at him again, fuck he hadn't even touched him yet and Blaine could feel the head of his cock pressed against the zipper of his slacks. Uncomfortable and persistent and a minute, barely there pressure that just made him ache.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you Sir?"

Student. Teacher. Student. Lips. Mouth. Words. Fuck, voice.

Blaine was so fired.

"God fuck yes. I want you to fuck me."

"Oh I knew it. I'm always right," he was saying, triumphant against the back of Blaine's neck and two fingers were dipping and sliding under his collar, pulling it away from the sweaty skin and pressing forwards to his throat.

There were deft fingers undoing Blaine's bowtie, scrambling with an increasing urgency and light touch that just made him moan, god he wanted those hands on him. He wanted them rough and insistent, forcing and bending him. His hands were spreading down, plucking at the hem of Blaine's sweater and wrenching it up over his head, pulling off his glasses and letting them drop to the floor.

Kurt tugged at his shoulders, yanking him backwards and pulling his arms back with a hard jolt that made Blaine gasp.

"Tut tut, Mr Anderson. You keep making this much noise and I'm going to have to stop. That door doesn't lock, you know."

Blaine hadn't realised he was making any sound but Kurt's words just made him moan louder.

Kurt jerked him upwards until Blaine was standing, pushing him forward with one hand between his shoulder blades and the other holding his wrists behind his back. Blaine's hips bumped the edge of the table, a tiny edge of pressure against his swollen cock.

Kurt's fingers were working at his wrists again, and only when he leaned forwards and pressed himself against Blaine's back whispering with sugary sweetness against his neck did Blaine realise what he'd done.

"Perfect. Now you can't go anywhere."

Kurt had bound his wrists with Blaine's own bowtie, tight enough to dig into his skin as he strained against them.

"Kurt –"

"Shh. We're going to have a lesson."

Kurt was hard against Blaine's ass, the digging press of his cock rubbing between Blaine's cheeks and he pushed back against it with a moan, tingles that shot up his spine and had him arching backwards into Kurt's chest.

Kurt moaned, bold and wanton in his ear, clutching around Blaine's waist and hauling him closer to rock against his back.

"God, fuck."

"Shhh," Blaine mimicked, and Kurt's laugh was choked and throaty against his ear. His hand was crawling up Blaine's chest, scraping nails over the point of his nipple and clutching tight to his throat to twist Blaine's head backwards.

His lips tasted like spiced strawberry, prickling over Blaine's mouth like pins and needles as he licked through his lips and across his teeth, tongue stroking hard over the roof of Blaine's mouth until he groaned.

He was lightheaded and spinning, the hand at his throat and mouth against his and not enough air, too breathless and too intense but Blaine didn't care because Kurt was kissing him hard and messy, his mouth pressing wet and vicious to Blaine's jaw and cheek and then he was whining, frantic and needy as his fingers scrambled down Blaine's chest. He pulled haphazardly at the buttons; ripping and tearing at the shirt until it hang open and moved lower to fumble with Blaine's belt.

Kurt let Blaine's pants fall to his ankles, tugging them off with his shoes and socks and kicking them away. His nose trailed back up the length of Blaine's body, dipping behind his knee with a sloppy kiss and then there was the tip of a tongue against his thigh, goosebumps and shivering into it as cool air ran across the wet skin.

"Now," he said, each word punctuated with a hard kiss to Blaine's mouth, "We're going to…have a…mmm…a lesson. This is a condom."

The edge of a packet was scraping across Blaine's lower lip, tiny cutting scratches that made his mouth drop open as he panted. Kurt's nails scratched over his lower stomach, rubbing through the rough trail of hair with a soft moan.

"I want you to open it and put it on me. Without your hands."

Blaine let his tongue catch across Kurt's fingers as they stroked by his mouth, letting it slip over and around them and drag them closer until the condom packet was between his teeth and Kurt's fingers.

Blaine pulled his head back, letting it tear open with a quiet, rustling rip and Kurt nuzzled at the skin behind his ear with a contented hum.

"And now –"

But Blaine was ahead of him, the tip of the condom caught between his teeth as he jerked around, holding Kurt's eyes in a sharp gaze as he dropped to his knees.

Kurt's breath caught slightly, with a hitching moan as he tugged at his own leather pants for a moment, peeling them away from his thighs low enough to bend down until their noses brushed with a smile.

His cock jutted out, bouncing against Blaine's cheek as he moved closer and holding Kurt's eyes, let his mouth slide down the hot skin, letting him rest heavy and hard against his tongue until the condom was unrolled completely and Blaine's forehead brushed against Kurt's lower belly. His tongue pressed against the thick vein as he pulled off, rubbing against the underside of Kurt's cock until he saw the tremble of his thighs and Kurt was wrenching him up with a handful of hair, crashing their mouths together and forcing his tongue between Blaine's lips with an intense ferocity that made Blaine's knees buckle.

"How…how did I do?" he gasped when Kurt pulled away, forehead pressed against Blaine's as he fought for breath and huffed out a laugh.

"Oh spectacularly, professor," he purred, a crooning whisper against his face, "you get an A+ and a gold star."

"I'd rather," Blaine caught Kurt's lip between his teeth, dragging their mouths together with a sharp bite, "I'd rather have you fuck me."

Kurt's eyes darkened, a growl flashing through his chest and he turned Blaine so fast the room spun, pushing him flat down over the desk until his ass was high in the air and his cheek against the rough grain of wood.

One hand held him there, comforting and warm against the base of his spine but Blaine could hear fumbling and muttered swearing, desk drawers rattling and pens rolling onto the floor.

"Come on, come the fuck on. What the – aha! Stupid of me to worry that a Sex Ed teacher doesn't have lube somewhere in these magic boxes of his."

"Always prepared," Blaine grunted, and then Kurt's finger was inside him, and he broke off with a cry. Kurt bent over his back, pressing soft kisses to the nape of Blaine's neck as he worked his fingers in and out with a twisting press, stretching and spreading, pulling out to rub down Blaine's skin.

"You were saying?"

Blaine felt his fingers curl, grasping reaching desperately and hooking onto the front of Kurt's shirt to clutch him closer and there were too many layers, shirts between the skin of their chests but Kurt's fingers were deep inside him and his thighs rubbing steadily against Blaine's and fuck that was perfect.

"Kurt…god, Kurt fuck, Please."

"Are you begging now, Mr Anderson?"

His cock was sliding up the length of Blaine's ass, slippery and hot to nudge against where Blaine's fingers were tangled behind his back and Kurt hissed at the light contact.

"God you want it bad, don't you?"

Blaine whined, panting and useless against the desk and Kurt was holding his hips, gripping at his waist and pushing him down. Rubbing and sliding along him, pressing his thumbs up the ridges of Blaine's spine to cup the back of his head, twining his fingers into Blaine's hair.

"Here, spread out on your desk begging me to fuck you."

Blaine whimpered, brokenly.

"Tell me to do it."

His breath was in Blaine's hair, against his throat and back as his mouth moved lower, teeth and kisses against his burning skin.

"Tell me to fuck you."

Blaine's throat was dry, hoarse and cracked on the words but he managed.

"Fuck me."

Kurt spun him round as the words left Blaine's lips, hoisting him up onto the desk with his legs slung loosely over Kurt's arms, the head of his cock bumping against his hole as Kurt pressed forwards, fierce hot pressure that made Blaine clench and moan, rocking his head backwards until Kurt was fully inside him.

Kurt paused, his head against Blaine's cheek, slick with sweat as he gasped for a moment.

Then he pulled out and thrust back in one hard movement, the desk rocking against the floor and his hipbones slamming into Blaine's ass with every movement.

Moans and the sliding sounds of skin, rubbing friction between them with every rattle of the desk and every breathless thrust while paper and pens scattered across the table and fell noisily to the floor.

Blaine fell back against his elbows, arms screaming from their twisted angle behind his back and legs spread as brazen as wide as they could go, baring his open and wanting all that Kurt could give him, hard and over and over with harsh sounds, louder with every thrust.

Kurt's voice had dropped to a throaty grunt, rasping and deep and his eyes screwed shut as sweat dripped down the length of his throat.

Blaine wanted to bite the veins of his neck, wanted to touch him and scratch him, feel their skin rub raw but he couldn't move. He could just take it, and his cock was bobbing against his stomach, smearing a wet trail through the dark hair and Kurt was raking his nails down the skin of Blaine's thighs with a cry.

Blaine was tired, aching and burning and he could feel his skin tighter and tighter with a gradual burning squeeze, too intense but not enough, god not enough. He needed friction and skin, a hand on his cock.

Kurt tipped him back, until he was flat against the desk and Kurt's teeth dug hard into Blaine's nipple, sucking and twisting the sensitive nub of skin, Kissing over his sweaty chest as his hands pressed Blaine's legs wider, skating down his inner thigh and closing around his cock.

Blaine cried out, his leg locking over Kurt's shoulder and clamping around his waist, catching him and feeling him just for a moment, just a second and two sharp flicks of his wrist was all that it took before Blaine was coming in hard jerks, spilling over Kurt's fingers and kissing him desperately, teeth against the corner of Kurt's mouth until he could breathe again.

But Kurt wasn't slowing or stopping, his hand still tight around Blaine's cock and he was whimpering, bucking away from it, away from the heat and the too much pressure too soon and the slow burn that hadn't faded as Kurt filled him over and over until his face screwed tight, forehead against Blaine's cheek and a screaming shout cracking on his lips.

Each breath was a tiny moan as Kurt propped himself up, hands flat either side of Blaine's face and looked down at him.

He was scorching red, lips swollen and bruised and hair damp with sweat as it fell over his forehead. His eyes flickered to Blaine's lips and back, thoughtful and unreadable as he pulled out, slow and deliberate and heedless of Blaine's gasp.

Kurt dropped down, kissing lightly against Blaine's chin, moving lower to skim down his throat and chest and to chase the smears of come from his skin, licking across his stomach where he trembled and shivered away from the touch. He moved back up and pressed their lips together, not forceful not like before. Just there, gentle and breathless.

Kurt hummed and cleared his throat slightly, fingers pushing Blaine's hair back from his forehead for a moment.

"How would you say I did in Sex Ed class, Mr Anderson?"

Blaine laughed, wriggling up onto his elbows to chase Kurt's lips with his own as Kurt moved away.

"You definitely passed."

"With flying colours?"

"Oh, you painted the whole fucking rainbow."

Kurt was pulling up his pants, refastening them and ducking back down to kiss Blaine's mouth. Pulling his shirt down from where it rumpled up around his chest, kissing him softly and wholly as he undid the knot of the tie around his wrists, pulling Blaine's aching arms around and rubbing at the sore skin as he kissed him over and over.

"I'm keeping this," he said between kisses, tucking the bowtie into his pocket and biting under Blaine's ear.

"But," Blaine tried to protest, his voice suddenly churlish as his fingers fought with Blaine's to struggle at his pocket, "But it's my favourite."

Kurt just laughed.

"Oh Blaine," Rachel said as he dropped into the seat beside her at the same table as earlier, wincing uncomfortably and shifting slightly, "You look awful."

"Man, Hummel really did you good huh?" Santana said, glancing up from her work and back down with a flick of her pen.

Blaine froze.

"Um…what?"

"Did he ride you all lesson?" Rachel said with a sympathetic nod, "Don't worry. He does that to everyone."

Blaine felt his mouth fall open, gaping for a moment until Santana glanced back up and narrowed her eyes. He felt himself blush as they raked over his dishevelled form, the missing bowtie and messy hair. The rumpled shirt and obvious discomfort as he readjusted his seat on the chair.

"Wait a minute…"

"I should go," Blaine said suddenly as her mouth fell open, his voice too high and shrill but he didn't care as he scrambled away from the table so quickly his chair crashed to the floor, "I'll…I'll see you."

He wasn't out of the door fast enough to miss Santana's shriek of laughter and her shrill cry of, "Oh my god."

Kurt was waiting by his car.

"I should have known you drove a Volvo."

"What's wrong with –"

"Everything, Mr Anderson. Everything is wrong with a Volvo."

His jacket was slung loosely over one shoulder, shirt hitching up where Kurt was rubbing a hand through his messy hair and Blaine could see the vivid pattern of his stolen bowtie against the pale of his forearm, tied into an elaborate knot above his wrist.

"Am I ever gonna get that back?"

Kurt cocked his head with a grin, raising his eyebrows.

"Well I don't know, Sir. I was hoping you would tie me up with it next time."