Not For Your Entertainment

Kurt smiled as he walked past the humongous line. Evita was the best LBGT club in New York, it always had a massive queue. Kurt was dressed to kill, skin tight trousers which looked painted on, boots with a slight heel, a tight shirt topped off with a waist coat. His hair was perfectly styled to look like sex hair.

The girls in the queue glared, the boys drooled as he swept past them up to the bouncer.

“Kurt! Don’t you look edible,” he said with a grin, ignoring the person he’d been checking the ID of. Kurt walked up to him and smiled, pressing a quick kiss to the bouncer’s cheek as he was let past.

Kurt had to remember to tell Santana she was amazing next time he saw her because knowing the owner of this club was a blessing disguised as a curse. Kurt got a drink, downed it and slid into the pulsating crowd, losing himself in the mass of bodies moving to the music.

He’d been adopted by two lesbians who were sliding up and down against him when he was yanked away from them and forcefully pressed against a firm chest.

“Dance with me gorgeous,” a voice spoke in his ear and he felt hips begin to grind against him. He hissed and pushed away.

“I was doing just fine thanks,” he replied turning back to the girls to find them all over each other. Arms slid round his waist and a chin hooked over his shoulder.

“You’re dancing buddies look pre-occupied, lucky me,” the same voice from before said. Kurt huffed and pulled away once more, heading back to the bar.

Unfortunately he was followed.

“More alcohol, good idea,” the man said, leaning against the bar next to Kurt. He flagged down the bar man and ordered his drink, “what are you drinking, babe?” he asked Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Vodka cranberry and I’ll pay for it,” he said to the barman. “Seeing as you can’t take a hint, I’ll explain it simply,” he carried on, speaking to the stranger who was trying to hit on him. “I. Don’t. Like. You.”

“’Course not babe, you don’t know me. Not that it matters, I want a hook-up not a marriage,” the stranger replied. Kurt groaned in frustration. “I can’t wait to hear that more,” the stalker added.

The drinks were placed in front of them. Kurt took a sip of his and looked over this stranger. He was shorter than Kurt, built compactly but well. He wore a simple white tee, tight over his arms and chest, and well fitted black jeans, turned up at the bottom. His dark hair was curled, held down slightly by sweat from the dancing. His face was classically handsome and he had beautiful hazel eyes that were currently staring right back at Kurt.

“You done?” the man asked.

“I’m done, not impressed,” Kurt replied coolly.

“Ouch, you’re a bitch has anyone ever told you that?”

“It’s been mentioned.” Kurt took another sip.

“I’m Blaine.”

“I don’t care.” You don’t look like a Blaine.

“That’s your cue to tell me your name.”

“Is it? Oh well, looked like I missed it never mind.”

“If you don’t tell me I’ll have to take a guess.”

“Go on then.”

“Kurt.” Kurt spluttered, choking on the drink he had been sipping casually.

“How did you?” He asked brokenly.

“I was just about to get into this place after hours of queuing when this freakin’ sex god swans up and breezes past with just a quick peck on the bouncer’s cheek.”

“Oh.”

“Are you famous?”

“What?”

“No one just walks into Evita without so much as ID check. So how did you do it?”

“I know Evita,” Kurt explained.

“What’d you do sleep with her, I hear she swings both ways.”

“Please, I’ve never been there. She’s a friend from high school and she hasn’t been near a dick since junior year so you take you information and stuff it somewhere.”

“I know what I’d like to stuff somewhere.”

“Oh wow, really, my gosh I think you’re winning me over,” Kurt replied sarcastically.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not with you,” Kurt answered Blaine’s abrupt question. Then placing his glass on the table he dashed into the crowd, losing Blaine. He danced the night away, flitting between partners and groups, losing himself in the heavy beat of the music and letting his body move without his brain being engaged. This was his guilty pleasure, outside these walls he was pure innocent Kurt, diligently doing his job and waiting for Prince Charming. Inside he was a flirt, unobtainable, making men forget who ever they’d come with wanting nothing more than their hands (and other things) on him only have him disappear whenever they got close. He needed to buy Santana the best Christmas present ever this year.

Kurt was casually weaving his way through the sweat soaked bodies. It was late, he was drunk, exhausted and wanted nothing more than his bed. He’d dance away the pressures of real life, now time to get back to it.

A hand closed around his wrist.

“Heading out?” Blaine said in his ear. Kurt sighed, not again.

“Yes, alone,” he replied, pulling his arm free and carrying on out of the door. Blaine followed. Once the pair were outside in the cool night air Blaine spoke again.

“Shame, no one as hot as you should leave a place like this alone.”

“And yet I do every time.”

“No one good enough for you?”

“Nope,” Kurt replied flashing him a coy smirk as he flagged down a taxi. The car slowed to a stop in front of him. Kurt opened the door, then looked back at Blaine. The other man looked strangely alone standing there, Kurt shook his head. “I’m sure your hand will keep you company tonight. Good bye Blaine.” He got in the car and left.

*

“You are a life saver,” Rachel said kissing him on the cheek as he placed a coffee down on her dressing room vanity.

“Of course I am, I’m also very busy, so what emergency do you have that can’t be sorted out by, oh I don’t know, the wardrobe department?” Kurt asked wearily. And Rachel launched in to a detailed explanation of what she didn’t like about her costume and how the wardrobe people weren’t listening to her. Kurt listened and secretly agreed with the wardrobe people but dutifully agreed to take a look at her costume.

He was carefully giving it the once over with his critical eye when a knock came at the door. He ignored it, letting Rachel open it. An oddly familiar voice filtered into Kurt’s brain.

“Kurt, meet Blaine,” Rachel said suddenly. Kurt turned and almost laughed because before him, wearing a polo, cardigan and bowtie, with hair neatly gelled was bad-boy-Blaine-from-the-club. The man in question was staring at Kurt slightly opened mouthed.

“Oh my… I’m going to go,” he said and tried to leave.

“No, come back, explain.” Kurt commanded.

“I..I.. oh I’m so sorry Kurt, that at the club, that wasn’t exactly me, I mean it was but well it was an act. You see my role in this show is the bad boy and Rachel decided I needed to practice in real life. She sent me to Evita and she told me you never take anyone home so I should try it out on you and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” he explained incredibly quickly, sounding slightly breathless when he was finished.

“Rachel?” Kurt asked, sounding incredibly threatening.

“You know what my costume’s fine,” she said, shoving both men out of the room and locking the door.

“One day,” Kurt said exasperated with his friend.

“I really am sorry,” Blaine added earnestly. Kurt turned to him and looked him over.

“I prefer this you, I think.”

“Me too, he’s less of an ass.”

“Definitely.”

“Can I take you for coffee sometime?” Blaine blurted out. Kurt paused and thought for a second before nodding.

“I’d like that.”