Disclaimer: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.
Author Notes: I'm sure at least half the people who read this will want to kill me for busting the bubble... This is set roughly a year and a half after Sugar Daddy, and is intended as a stand-alone piece. It is not the beginning of a sequel. Thankyou to NomminsPlz for making me want to write this.



Kurt turned eighteen just a few short months after graduating highschool. He'd spent the past two summers interning at Verve, so it wasn't at all outwardly unusual when he instantly got himself a part time job with the magazine. Noah had given him a kickstart to a promising modeling career, though Kurt still maintained that his passion was performance. The modeling, the part time office job, was just a stepping stone in the middle. It was only now, after two and a half years of being romantically involved, that Kurt had been brought into the public light as Noah Puckerman's new love interest.

"It's instant publicity," Noah had murmured into his ear, and pressed a kiss to his earlobe. "Your name all over the tabloids, your face in the celebrity magazines."

Kurt, still a little airsick from the flight from Lima to New York, had sighed. "Nothing sells like scandal," he agreed dryly. "They'll still be calling me your rent boy."

"You make a beautiful rent boy."

It was Kurt's age that sparked the scandal, which he frankly thought was a little ridiculous. He was eighteen, which made him legal enough (though still not able to drink alcohol), and as far as anyone knew he and Noah had only just started dating. But somehow the eleven year age gap was an even bigger deal than the fact that Kurt Hummel was a male model. Men in the fashion industry were expected to be gay, after all. They weren't expected to date barely-legal boys. Or to take them to charity galas in stretch limousines. How daring, to openly entertain a same-sex partner where the paparazzi lurked behind every second potted plant.

That was where they were now. A charity event intended to raise money for a not for profit agency that helped abused women and children.

Kurt was dressed to stand out in a lavender suit and purple tie, radiant on the arm of the impeccably dressed Mr. Puckerman, nothing but charming and witty and the perfect arm candy. He drank club soda instead of champagne, laughed politely at other people's bad jokes, and allowed himself to be introduced to the wealthy and charitable socialites that Noah already knew by name. He played the part as well as he knew how and eventually found himself being introduced to a very successful producer.

"I hope you don't mind if I steal him away," Henry Rice, Broadway producer, said to Noah, "but I'd like to get to know this mysterious young man a little better."

"Only if you're considering him for a role," Noah replied smoothly. He brushed Kurt's shoulder with a hand and smiled at him. "I'll be over there in the corner beating people off with sticks. Don't talk too long, or I might think you're considering trading up."

Kurt smiled and let himself be led off to a table. Somehow the next drink that wound up in his hand was white wine. "I'll have you know that Broadway is one of my passions," Kurt told Rice, smiling demurely. "I try to see as many shows as I can. I've always dreamed of being up there on the stage myself."

"I take it that means you sing. You have an unusual voice. What's your range? Tenor?"

"Countertenor," Kurt replied. "I'm told," he added, remembering several performances from his old glee club, "I have an impressive range."

"I'm sure you do."

"Perhaps I could sing for you sometime? You could hear my range for yourself." It was an aggressive move, but Kurt had learned that aggressive was the way things were done. If you were meek you didn't get your way. Besides, Noah liked aggressive. Otherwise Kurt wouldn't still be around.

Rice looked momentarily surprised, then chuckled. "Of course. Or course, I'd like that. Here, I'll give you my card."

"When should I call you?" Kurt pressed, the small white rectangle with Rice's business number tucked into a pocket.

"Call me on Monday," Rice replied. "And we'll arrange a get together over lunch."

Kurt moved on when the conversation dwindled, knowing when it was better to bow out than risk Rice getting bored with him. He excused himself and left the table to look for his boyfriend, starting with the corners and moving outwards. He found Noah at a table by the stage, chatting to a dark-skinned young woman in a stunning emerald dress. A model, Kurt assessed her silently before he approached, or one of the silver spoon crowd. There was no other way she could afford that one-off designer dress and feel confident enough to pull off the thigh-high slit in the skirt. Kurt's eyebrow arched a little, his eye drawn to the olive-skinned hand that rested casually on top of that flash of exposed thigh, thumb gently rubbing circles against the girl's skin.

Kurt forced his face into a pleasant smile and swept up to the table. "Noah, honey, I thought I'd lost you."

"Kurt," Noah replied, removing his hand from the woman's thigh without a hint of embarrassment at being caught. "This is Christmas Green, the new face of Jane Iredale. Christmas, this is the lovely Kurt Hummel."

Model then. Kurt nodded, and bit back the comments he desperately wanted to make based on the girl's name. (Green? Not a white Christmas then? That was too terribly racist Kurt, he thought to himself, you're a bad boy tonight.) "Very pleased to meet you. Noah, it's getting late... and we both have to work in the morning."

"So we do," Noah agreed, checking his wrist watch. He smiled at the dark and bewitching Christmas. "Another time, another day. A pleasure to meet you."

Kurt waited until they were safely seated in the back of their silver service taxi before he dropped the pleasant smile and gave his boyfriend a hard look. "If you're going to flirt," he said pointedly, "and don't you dare tell me you weren't, at least have the decency to do it when I can't walk in on you."

"I had no fucking idea you were so precious about who I flirt with."

"Noah, please. You do two different kinds of flirting. One," Kurt held up a finger, "I am perfectly fine with, because it's just you being charming. But then there's the flirting you do when you want to fuck someone, and -"

"Oh for," Noah cut him off, rolling his eyes. "You're the only one I fuck, Kurt. So don't you go getting fucking jealous over a little innocent flirting."

"You had your hand on her thigh!"

"And when I have my hand on her pussy maybe you can complain about it."

"Charming," Kurt sneered. He crossed his arms and turned to look out the window. The rest of the cab ride was silent, both men staring out opposite windows. When the taxi pulled to a stop outside their apartment building Kurt got out without a word and left Noah to pay the driver. He was already waiting at the elevator when Noah caught up to him.


"No," Kurt said, and shrugged off the hand Noah had put on his shoulder and stepped into the elevator. "I'm mad at you."

Noah followed him in and pressed the button for the top floor. "Kurt," he tried again, this time sliding his hands along either side of the younger man's waist. Kurt batted his hands away but Noah was persistent, and managed to get his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Baby, you're my only one."

"Noah, please."

"You're the only one I care about," Noah stated, and leaned forward to catch Kurt's plush, cherry-flavoured lips in a kiss. "You're the only one who matters to me. Anyone else, I don't fucking give a damn. You? I love you, baby." Several soft kisses later and Kurt was leaning against his chest in the circle of his arms when the elevator doors opened again. Noah led the younger man into their penthouse apartment and took off Kurt's suit jacket. "Lets go to bed," he suggested, "and I'll take you out to dinner after work tomorrow, Ok?"

"I'm still mad at you," Kurt replied softly, but kissed him anyway.

He called Henry Rice on Monday as soon as he got in to work and was met with an easily accommodated suggestion of a one o'clock lunch meeting at his office. Kurt checked the distances and confirmed that he'd be there, then hung up and settled into a morning of routine. He left for lunch at quarter to one, knowing that nobody would bother getting annoyed with him for leaving early, and was at Henry Rice's office with two minutes to spare. The atmosphere seemed different with just the two of them alone, and Kurt found himself using very single piece of diplomacy and tact that he possessed to remain playful without giving any indication that he was amenable to casting couch antics.

He sang for Rice, belted out his best number right there in the office and even with the awful acoustics he could tell the older man was impressed.

He declined the invitation to go to dinner. "Noah's taking me out this evening," Kurt explained.

"Coffee then," Rice offered. "Tomorrow, my treat."

"Mr. Rice... Thankyou, but I think it's best if we keep our relationship professional." Kurt was tempted to wince the very second that left his mouth. It sounded insulting, or so he thought. It certainly hadnt' come out the way he'd intended it to.

"Alright," Rice said. "Professional like your relationship with Puckerman?"

Kurt blinked. "I beg your pardon."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Yes," Kurt said shortly, standing up. "Unfortunately, I do. I think we're done here, Mr. Rice." He turned on his heel and started out of the office. "I only have room for one sugar daddy," he added on his way out the door.

He quietly fumed over the audacity of the suggestion all the way back to Verve, where he clocked in again and set to work fussing about with clothing racks. It might not have bothered him so much if it hadn't had a seed of truth. Noah provided for Kurt financially and kept him in designer wear and musicals. Kurt's house in Lima was paid for by Noah's money, his car had been a gift, even his job was thanks to Noah's influence. Kurt was a kept boy, and it pissed him off that people knew it.

It pissed him off because he knew damn well that Noah fooled around with other people when he was at home in Lima. Maybe he didn't sleep with them, but that was besides the point. In order to keep a happy, healthy relationship Kurt had to ignore it when, not all the time but just every so often, Noah would have the urge to be a little promiscuous.