Summary: Blaine is a hooker on the streets of New York, where as fate would have it, Kurt crosses his path (but not in the way you’d think…).
A/N: Don’t get too excited, y’all. There’s more drama to come.
“Sounds like you had fun last night.”
“Hmm?” Kurt glances up from his copy of Vogue at the kitchen table to Rachel. She’s leaning her back against the adjacent wall with her lips around a straw, sipping a fruit smoothie casually. Kurt’s only half listening, entranced by the models donning various styles in front of him. He’s pretty much adjusted to ignoring Rachel when she speaks, which sounds cruel, but if he listened to everything she ever said he’s not so sure he would still be living in this loft.
“Blaine sure got an earful.” At those words, Kurt pales, clutching the edges of his magazine until they crinkle in his hands. “Or should I say a handful…” she mutters.
“Rachel!” Kurt shouts, feeling his cheeks heat up as he slams down his magazine.
“What? You weren’t exactly secretive about it!” She replies, throwing up a hand in gesticulation before placing it on her hip.
“It was nothing.” Kurt snaps, snatching up his magazine and jolting out of his seat toward his room. But of course, in true Rachel fashion, she follows.
“That sounded like a whole lot of something, Kurt.”
“You had phone sex with him!”
“It just happened, Rachel!” Kurt spits out as he spins around to his roommate, and Rachel rears back a step from their close proximity. “It. just. happened, ok? He called and he was horny and I was horny and it just. happened. There’s no relationship, there’s no friends with benefits, there’s no nothing! Got it?”
Rachel’s mouth bobs open for a moment before she snaps it shut with a pout, crossing her arms tight over her chest. “Fine. But just remember that while you may be having “nothing” with him, I’m still your best friend. And when he leaves you flat on your ass for some forty-something divorcee with a big cock, don’t come crying to me about it!”
Kurt’s lips part slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
Rachel straightens up to her full stature, flexing her grip on her half-empty glass. “Oh, just ignore that, it was nothing.” She mocks, shoving her glass into Kurt’s hand and turning with a broad flip of her hair in succession, balancing on sickeningly high heels to the door of the loft, snatching up her purse and coat on the way, and shoving the heavy door open with one hand. She stares at Kurt pointedly one more time before slamming it shut behind her.
Kurt stands there, both perplexed and outraged simultaneously, staring at the closed door. What the hell does she know? Yeah, they got each other off last night. It was fun. It felt good. But that’s all it was. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe they are friends with benefits now; they both had said that they liked what happened. But the bottom line is, in some weird, perverted way, Rachel is right. Kurt could never date Blaine.
Yes, Blaine was sexy and sweet and funny and everything. He was also a prostitute. Kurt knows himself, and he knows that he’s possessive about things he likes. That was made abundantly clear to both of them a few days ago when that trashy creep got just a little too close. It was proof enough that first time that Sebastian guy groped all over Blaine when Kurt was around.
The amount of attachment he already feels for Blaine is unhealthy enough. Being saddled with actual reciprocal feelings on top of that would just obliterate any self-control Kurt had. Kurt would never ask Blaine to give up his life because he knows how much Blaine likes what he does. Telling him to quit whoring is like Blaine telling Kurt to quit his internship because he spends more time getting Isabelle’s coffee than he does making Blaine’s, despite Blaine knowing that Kurt would much rather be drinking coffee with him than with his boss.
With all of that crammed into his mind, the fact still remains that Kurt is falling in love with Blaine, and there’s nothing he can do to stop his heart from getting broken.
Blaine calls him later that week. Kurt’s learned not to panic when Blaine calls late at night. He used to automatically assume the worst, but Blaine has called him enough times after hours now to not really warrant much stress or terror at a simple name on his screen. But there will always be at least a little bit of panic. A little bit of him worrying that Blaine has been assaulted or kidnapped or worse. He tries his best to toss those thoughts out of his head the moment he hits “answer”.
“Hey, Blaine. How’s it going?”
“Eh. Alright. Bored.” Blaine drones, and Kurt lets out a breath, knowing that he is, for sure, okay.
“You at your apartment?” Kurt asks casually, lying back onto his bed.
“Nah. At some trick’s house.” Blaine replies.
Kurt sits up immediately, stunned. “You’re…on the job? Right now?”
Despite the environment, Blaine is calm, languid in his speech. “Mmhm. He fell asleep. But he paid for two, so I gotta stick around till at least 5 am before I calls it quits. I’ll probably wake him up by then. My ass gets twitchy if it has to wait too long for what it knows is coming.”
“Oh my god, Blaine.” Kurt laughs, putting a hand over his mouth.
Blaine can’t seem to contain the little-too-loud laugh that explodes from him, but it sounds like it he tries to muffle it rather quickly to avoid waking up his “work”. When he speaks again it’s in a forced whisper. “It’s true! One day you’ll probably see it and be horrified.”
Kurt can feel his face heating up at that, playing along. “Are you implying that I’ll be seeing your bare ass sometime soon?”
“The world is a spontaneous place, Kurt.”
“That it is.” Kurt replies.
They haven’t mentioned the phone incident since they hung up that night, haven’t initiated anything else, but he knows they’re both thinking about it. It’s the big, fluorescently colored elephant in the room whenever they talk to each other, wherever they are, it’s always just below the surface. It hasn’t stopped the banter, but it’s taken on a much more palpable intensity—at least it has for Kurt. He can never be positive about Blaine, but he likes to think that he thinks about it as much as Kurt does.
“Oh hey, babe, I gotta go. I hear snuffling.”
Kurt smiles at the nickname, trying to not let it get to him, but failing miserably. “Ok. I’ll talk to you later, Blaine.”
“Hey, you wanna hang out tomorrow?” Blaine tags on before he hangs up.
Kurt’s eyes widen at the unexpected offer, but he rushes to take it. “I…yeah, sure. Around three?”
“Sounds perfect. See you then, Kurt.”
“See you then.”
Blaine meets Kurt outside the Vogue building and links arms with him as soon as he’s out the door. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since it happened, and Blaine doesn’t want things to be weird. So he acts just as he normally would, jovially making conversation as they weave their way through the sidewalks of chaotic New York, and the talk is still nearly effortless between them. It seems they’ve both decided not to make it a big deal, and for all he knows, Kurt’s forgotten about it and just counts it as a friendly gesture to talk off your best friend over the phone.
However, Blaine would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t wearing his favorite underwear that accentuates his assets better than any others—just in case they were to have a repeat in person.
They end up at a little bistro, Blaine ordering a chicken salad and Kurt a BLT, and they sit by the window and watch the people strut by in their designer clothes and their Rasta getups and their angry phone calls.
And all at once, Blaine can see them doing this ten years down the road.
He can see them people-watching in cafés, holding hands with the silver of their rings glinting with the sunlight from the window, as Kurt leans over to whisper critiques and compliments about the passersby in his ear with hushed tones as Blaine giggles into Kurt’s chest, feeling the flutter of Kurt’s lips against the side of his head. And when Blaine least expects it, Kurt would mutter something filthy in his ear, and he’d tease Blaine until he insisted they get the hell out of there before Blaine sucks him off right there (and they just might not make it out of the shop a couple times, and Blaine finds himself on his knees in a bathroom stall with Kurt’s hand in his hair and the other over his mouth.)
It hits him all at once, the vivid imagery, and Blaine feels like he was just shot in the chest. Like the hole is gaping and now Kurt can see right through him. He peers over to the real, tangible Kurt, and he’s sticking his fancy sandwich toothpick repeatedly into the lettuce garnish on his plate while staring out the window. The sun is setting, shining through the window and right onto Kurt’s profile, and Blaine can’t look away. The soft curves of his face, the subtle sloping of his nose, the laugh lines from his gentle smile…it’s undoing Blaine thread by thread.
Kurt must sense the examination because he turns his head with a smile towards Blaine. Blaine blinks rapidly, bringing himself back down from his little cloud and returning Kurt’s smile, throwing in a wink for good measure.
“You checking me out, Anderson?” Kurt asks with a heightened eyebrow.
Blaine lifts his thumb up and bites on his nail briefly, pairing it with a little smirk in a way that he knows makes guys a little curious about what else he can do with his mouth. “So what if I was, Hummel? The street’s not the only scenery around here.”
“Yeah, and neither am I. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Kurt swings around in his chair and hoists himself up, snagging his coat from the back of his chair and wrestling it on.
“Where are we going?” Blaine asks, amused, but pulling his coat on anyway.
“Your place.” Kurt says simply, starting for the door.
“How presumptuous of you, Mr. Hummel. How do you know I’m that kind of guy?” Blaine teases, hooking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder from behind.
Kurt cranes his head to look at Blaine, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Call it a hunch.” Kurt plays along for a moment before breathing out a laugh and walking again. “Keep it in your pants, Anderson, we’re probably gonna watch the ‘I Love Lucy’ marathon.”
“That sounds good, too.” Blaine chimes in after him, catching the door and following him out.
They do end up watching the marathon, but their attention span drifts after a while, and they’re surfing through channels when they stumble upon an episode of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, and Blaine pipes up.
“Oh my god, stop! We have to watch this!”
Kurt grins at Blaine with a little confusion, but relents, and there is Mr. Rogers, at the neighborhood music store, making friendly conversation with the shop owner.
“Oh my god, I haven’t seen this since I was a kid.” Blaine squeaks, lifting himself up and curling his legs underneath him. Kurt laughs, still looking at Blaine as he eagerly watches the television in front of him.
“You’re adorable sometimes, you know that?”
Blaine tears his face away from the show to smile sheepishly at Kurt. The corners of Kurt’s eyes are crinkled as he grins, admiring Blaine. Blaine shrugs, “There are many sides to me. I can’t be devilishly handsome and sexual all the time, you know.”
“No, of course not.” Kurt jokes, “Sometimes you squeal like a little kid and watch a gentle old man tell you about the wonders of clarinets.”
Blaine sets a hand over his heart in fake offense. “Hey, Fred Rogers was a bad ass, ok? He was a fucking marine.”
“I’m sure he was, Blaine.” Kurt brushes him off, crossing his legs primly.
“Look it up, right now! He wore sweaters to cover up the tattoos on his arms!” Blaine insists, leaning towards Kurt with his words. It only makes Kurt laugh more.
“Oh, dear, sweet, Blaine.” Kurt placates, shaking his head lightly. “Are you going out to get sleeves of tattoos now, to imitate your childhood idol?”
Something sparks in Blaine’s mind and he smirks at Kurt, wetting his lips, and letting them drift open for a moment before he speaks. “I have a tattoo.”
Kurt raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Bullshit.”
Blaine shakes his head with the smirk still in place. “I’ve got one.”
Kurt narrows his eyes at him. “Where?”
Blaine just smiles, enjoying the tease.
“You’re a goddamn liar.” Kurt rolls his eyes.
“I am not!” Blaine grins widely, scooting closer to Kurt on the couch.
“Where is it, then? Why haven’t I seen it?” Kurt asks, and Blaine smiles again. Kurt smacks his hand on his face and drags it down with a dramatic flair. “Oh god, Blaine, if it’s on your ass, I swear to god…”
“It’s not on my ass! That’s so tacky. It’s not like, an arrow pointing to my asshole that says ‘fuck me’ or something.”
Kurt crosses his arms. “Then where is it?”
Blaine sighs, sliding off the couch and standing in front of Kurt. Blaine puts a bit of a mischievous glint in his eye as he undoes his pants and tucks his thumb into the right side of his waistband.
Kurt’s eyes bulge and he sputters out, “You do not have a dick tattoo, Blaine Anderson!”
“Will you just let me..!” Blaine counters with a laugh. He tugs on the tops of his pants and underwear, down far enough that it’s dangerously close to the base of his dick, but it reveals what he’s looking for, low on his hip and curling a little into his inner thigh. A pair of plump, parted masculine lips, shaded on the edges with red, with musical bars curled sensually out of the mouth and onto his inner thigh in the shape of a tongue.
“Shit, you weren’t kidding.” Kurt mumbles. Kurt’s hand twitches, and Blaine is pretty sure Kurt wants to touch, and he really hopes the corresponding twitch of his cock wasn’t prominent enough to be noticed.
“Got it when I was eighteen, after my first major-paying fuck. Decided to celebrate. Got more than a little drunk and…voilà.” He lets the band snap back into place, doing up his pants again, and he lands heavily on the couch once more.
Kurt’s eyes dart up to Blaine. “That’s kind of really hot.” Blaine bites his lip at that, taking a little—ok a lot—of pride in what Kurt just said. But then Kurt speaks again. “Aren’t you going to regret that when you’re older?”
Blaine meets Kurt’s eyes, where he finds what definitely looks like fire blazing hot there. He likes that look more than he should, and he wants more of it. He wants that look gazing down at him while Blaine has his lips in a vice around Kurt’s cock. He wants them staring at him from the bed, where Kurt is naked and spread out, beckoning for Blaine to join him. He wants Kurt.
“I dunno,” Blaine says low, slipping his thumb into his waistband again and stroking over the now hidden mark, returning the heated gaze, and already imagining Kurt’s tongue tracing every line of the tattoo while Blaine tells him why he got that design. He’s not sure he’s cryptic enough when he stares hungrily back at Kurt and says, “Not if my future husband’s mouth finds interest in it.”
Kurt licks his lips, challenging Blaine’s gaze as he breathes out, “I have a feeling you won’t have many regrets, then.”
Blaine feels the warm rush on his skin and the sharp allusion in his words.
And then it happens. He has no idea who the hell initiated it, who made the final nudge, but now their mouths are on each other. Kurt’s mouth is on him. He can feel the soft, sensual curve of him up against his own lips, the moistened state of them sliding off of Blaine’s. Blaine brings a hand up to curve along Kurt’s face, and Kurt’s hand wraps around his wrist as he takes Blaine’s lips in his mouth again. The tip of Kurt’s tongue flicks along Blaine’s lips, and Blaine briefly takes Kurt’s lower lip between his before pulling away slowly and dragging his eyelids open.
Kurt’s face is hard to read, but his chest is heaving shallowly, and he’s staring right back at Blaine. He slides his hand from Kurt’s face, but Blaine’s lips remain parted as he tries to work out what just happened. So he says what he thinks people would usually say in this situation.
Kurt swallows and shakes his head. “No, don’t be, it was …”
“—It was nice.” Blaine winces, running a hand through his curls. Kurt just nods more frantically in agreement.
“Yeah, definitely, it was nice.”
“Yeah.” Blaine finds himself whispering once more.
Kurt suddenly stands. “I should go.”
Part of Blaine fears that Kurt might have read his thoughts, and is about to head for the hills, but he hastily realizes how stupid that sounds. “Yeah, ok.” Blaine says, standing up as well, though he’s not sure why. Blaine nods, rubbing his hands off on his jeans. “Well I’ll see you later, then.” And Blaine waves, who the fuck waves after kissing their best friend?
Kurt’s eyes jet around before landing on Blaine with a shy smile. “Yeah. Later, Blaine.”
“Later.” Blaine mutters, once Kurt is already out the door.
The television is still on in the background, transitioning into the ending theme song of Mr. Rogers, and Blaine stands there, shocked and a little wired. He catches the words of the song in his ears, and he can’t help himself from pressing his hand over his mouth and letting out an atrociously giddy giggle and flopping back onto the couch, tracing his still-tingling lips with the tip of his finger.
It’s such a good feeling,
To know you’re alive.
The minute he’s on the street, Kurt’s phone is in his hand, and he’s frantically pushing buttons. He’s just kissed one of his best friends. His best friend who is a fucking hooker and whom he swore he would never get involved with. But before he knew it, Blaine was unbuttoning his pants and showing him his incredibly sexy hip tattoo, and then they were really close and Blaine had insinuated…no, there was no insinuation, Kurt had just looked too far into things, and he’d imagined that Blaine had wanted Kurt’s mouth on his hip tattoo for many years to come, that he wanted Kurt to be his husband…
No, that was absolutely ridiculous, and Kurt wasn’t going to let himself analyze what Blaine had said for the next week. He was not going to get hung up on this boy he’s been trying to stay platonic with, yet is the same boy whom he got off with over the phone just a few days ago and definitely just kissed in a way that made Kurt vibrate from his head to his toes and through his dick and—
Kurt’s breath comes out in a rush, his head spinning and his lips buzzing as he tries to come back down to earth. The voice on the phone helps him settle, and Kurt slams his eyes closed for a moment before responding. “Dad? I know this isn’t your area of expertise, but I have a serious problem.”