Author's note: Sincerest apologies to The Divinyls for this silly, silly fic.
But you were the ones that started it.

In hindsight, Blaine should have just returned to class.

It would have saved him a whole lot of embarrassment. But it was all Kurt's fault. Kurt who, for the past few weeks, had engaged him in friendly conversation over numerous cups of coffee, yet remained oddly distant. Blaine, in respect to Kurt, had avoided any gesture towards him that could even be mistaken for flirting; lingering stares, shoulder nudging and jovial gropes down below (not that Blaine had ever dared) had ceased. It wasn't Blaine's disinterest that had allowed this to happen, on his part. It was more to do with the fact that Blaine had wanted to remain friends, and only friends, with Kurt. It was the only way that Blaine knew how to cope when hearing thoughts in his head such as, when spotting a delectable-looking cream pastry at the Lima Bean one afternoon, said: Oh God if you were Kurt I would lick you all over because you look so delicious and fluffy and oh crap now I'm comparing Kurt to a cream pastry and he's standing right next to me oh those biscotti look nice. Kurt didn't seem to be too fussed about the friendship arrangement. But this all came to a head in History class one day: one of the few classes Blaine had the pleasure of seeing Kurt in.

The students were in their usual rows with their own individual desks, with Kurt seated to the right of Blaine. Their lesson was a continuation on the topic of the Napoleonic Wars, a subject which neither Blaine, nor his history teacher Mr Shriver, a short, balding man who wore his brown suit as a personal uniform, had much passion for.

'The Napoleonic Wars…' continued Mr Shriver, sighing and turning towards the classroom board '...had resulted in much societal and political change for Europe as it had for France….'

Blaine groaned inwardly and placed his hand over his face, sneaking a glance over to his right to see how Kurt was faring.

Much to his surprise, Kurt was upright in his seat, showing no sign of classroom fatigue, his hands hidden under his desk. His posture dictated that he had really taken an interest to the subject. Kurt's eyes, however, were glazed over, staring off into the distance. It didn't take Blaine long to find something just as fascinating to focus on.

Kurt was biting down on his lip.

And he seemed to be biting rather hard.

Blaine noticed Kurt's lower lip was flushed a vibrant red from the pressure of the bite.

'Trying to relieve forces under pressure from the French Army...'

Blaine gripped the sides of his desk tightly, aware that he was now gawking at Kurt. Kurt, however, had taken no notice.

'...had no choice but to follow through...'

As Blaine continued to stare, Kurt, unaware of his one-man audience, released his lower lip and closed his eyes, shuddering. He took another bite on the corner of his lower lip, and began to suck on it lightly. He drew in a sharp intake of breath before releasing it slowly, eyes fluttering open but still appearing lost in his own reverie.

'...could not retaliate...'

Blaine was frozen in his seat. His heartbeat had slowed down to a great extent, but it thundered loudly against his chest. He suddenly realised the presence of his own left hand, which had left the desk on its own accord and now, as Blaine looked down at it, was slowly stoking the inside of his upper thigh. Blaine quickly moved it away.

'...over and over...and over...'

Kurt's lower lip was now barely visible as he had begun chewing on it lazily. Blaine felt a low moan escape from the back of his throat. He muffled it quickly by placing a fist in his mouth.

'...getting much stronger...'

It wasn't until he saw the sight of Kurt's moist, pink tongue dart out quickly to caress his lips that Blaine lost it; his face flushed with warmth and his breath staggered before he became aware of the sweat forming on his forehead. He felt a familiar tingling sensation arise from his loins. Knowing of no other way of freeing himself from this state, he gulped and raised his hand.

'Which lead to the undoing of...Mr Anderson?'

'Uh...sir,' gasped Blaine, as all eyes of the class turned to face him. 'May-may I be excused? I don't feel so well.'

Mr Shriver beckoned Blaine towards the front of the room. Blaine, feeling Kurt's surprised gaze fixed on to him, stumbled quickly out of his seat. After seeing the boy's feverish condition up close, Mr Shriver quickly scribbled down on a slip of paper and handed it to Blaine, who turned and walked past the rows of silent students, avoiding Kurt's concerned stare. He quickly picked up his notebook and pens as Kurt continued to observe him, his brow furrowed.

'Blaine, are you all righ-' he began to whisper.

'Fine!' Blaine squeaked, as he bounded for the door.



Blaine tore up his slip of paper as soon as he left the classroom. He had no intention of seeing the school nurse, and could not endure ten more minutes of class in his state. Instead, he took a detour and found himself in the hallway of the performing arts rooms. Opening one door, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

It was empty, save for a little canary in its cage near one of the tables. Pavarotti cocked its head to one side as he looked at Blaine before pecking at the seed dish. Blaine liked this room. Not so much for the open fireplace and number of plush green leather lounges, but also for the privacy of the room when the door was closed, as the windows looked out towards the back of a brick wall.

Blaine strode over to one of the lounges and flopped down on it, panting furiously. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before he realised he was sitting directly opposite Pavarotti. Not wanting to indulge the bird in the shame of which he was about to partake, he quickly left the lounge and crossed the room, placing himself down at another lounge which was facing away from the door. He removed his blazer and placed it next to him, then undid the top of his shirt button and loosened his tie. Then he undid his belt buckle with one hand, as he had done many times before, and slipped it through the loops on his trousers before untucking his shirt. He leaned back against the lounge, sliding down until he was almost at its base. He titled his head back until he was staring up at the ceiling as he let one of his hands roam down his chest, breathing sharply as he found his way down to the zip of his trousers. And then Blaine Anderson began to express himself the best way he knew how.

In song.

'I love myself, and I want you to love me,' Blaine began, causing Pavarotti to tweet in surprise. Blaine slid both hands down to his waist as he continued singing:

'When I feel down
I want you above me'

He ran the palm of one hand down his chest; the other he raked through his hair, causing it to fall in all directions.

'I search myself
I want you to find me'

Blaine stepped up on to the coffee table, placing both hands over his heart and singing with a profound intensity:

'I forget myself
I want you to remind me'

He stepped down from the coffee table and ran to the wall opposite him. Blaine turned around and slammed his back against it before slowly, and sensually, sliding down to the floor.

'I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
Oh, I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no...'

He continued singing, sprawled along the floor. By this point, Blaine was feeling flushed with heat. Leaning heavily against the wall behind him for support, he closed his eyes, imagining Kurt in front of him:

'I close my eyes
And see you before me
Think I would die
If you were to ignore me
A fool could see
Just how much I adore you'

Blaine raised himself to his knees, placing his hands together as if in prayer:

'I get down on my knees
I'd do anything for you...'

'I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
Oh, I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no'

He paused only briefly to unbutton more of his shirt with one hand, as if he had done so many times before. When he resumed singing, his vocals were more fervent, released in part with deep growls:

I love myself
And I want you to love me
When I'm feeling down
I want you above me
I search myself
I want you to find me
I forget myself
I want you to remind me

He sauntered over to the lounge, pushing himself back slowly so that he was lying across the very top of it. He sang towards the ceiling, so engrossed in his solo performance that he did not hear the sound of a door clicking open and a person stopping short of entering the room.

I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
Oh...I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no

Blaine slid down to the base of the lounge and spoke the next verse in a low, seductive whisper:

I want you
I don't want anybody else
And when ...I think about you

His hand slid down his torso, slowly inching closer.

I...touch myself

His hand had grazed the right spot, for the next word came out in a low moan:


The sound of a crash behind him made Blaine tumble down to the base of the lounge. Finding a grip on the seat, he peered out over the top of the headrest. Standing in the doorway was the subject of his performance, the fallen textbook from his hand lying a few inches in front of him on the floor. As Blaine was still concealed behind the furniture, he thought he still had a chance to sneak away to a nearby lounge and hide.

But the damage was done. Blaine rose from the lounge slowly, eyes wide in horror as Kurt reached forward to claim the textbook and place it on a nearby table.

Neither one of them spoke. The only sound in the room belonged to Blaine, consuming sharp intakes of breath. Kurt, whose face hid the subtle signs of a smile, opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and crossed his arms. When he did speak, he chose his words carefully.

'I...uh...saw that you left your textbook behind,' Kurt began, eyes darting anywhere but to Blaine. 'And I...asked Mr Shriver if I could leave a little earlier to return it to you. I went to the weren't I thought the only other place you'd be would be here.' He turned his face away before sneaking a glance at Blaine again; he was trying to fight the smile forming at his lips at seeing Blaine's dishevelled state.

'Oh,' was all that Blaine could muster. He took a deep breath and walked around the lounge towards the door. He stopped a few feet away from Kurt. 'Kurt, I-'

The school bell signalling the beginning of lunch cut him short. He waited until it finished ringing before he continued. 'I was singing.'

'Really?' asked Kurt, his eyebrows raised. His expression was serious but Blaine noticed Kurt's eyes were dancing. 'To whom?'

'Uh...' Blaine hesitated, before looking across the room and pointing his finger. 'Pavarotti.'

Blaine thought Kurt would continue with his teasing, but Kurt stared at him, his lips frowning as his eyes widened in shock.

'You were singing about... Pavarotti?' Kurt spluttered, his hand finding a grip on the door handle behind him. Blaine suddenly realised what he had said.

He did not know what possessed him to say what he said next, as he was always honest with Kurt, but this was no time to be modest: his dignity was at stake.

'No! I didn't mean it that way, I was - I was just singing about myself, it had nothing to do had nothing to do with you!' he blurted out.

He instantly regretted it. Kurt's expression fell but after a brief pause, his eyes widened in realisation, as he took in the true nature of Blaine's outburst. To Blaine's amazement, Kurt crossed his arms and regained his composure, staring down at Blaine, who now had one hand cupped across his mouth, in case anything else came out of it that would incriminate him further.

'Shame,' Kurt replied curtly, opening the door behind him slightly, the sound of chattering students growing louder from the hallway. He stood watching Blaine intently. 'Because when I think about you...'

Blaine felt Kurt's eyes linger on his before they moved down and back up again to give a swift examination of his body. And then Kurt was biting his lip, his damn lip, the same way he had done so in History class. Kurt left his words to hang in the air as he silently slipped out of the room.

Blaine stood, frozen in his place.

Because when I think about you...

Wordlessly, he picked up his discarded blazer and belt, silently retrieved his textbook from the coffee table and glanced briefly towards Pavarotti before hurrying into the busy hallway after Kurt.