A/N: So I guess Glee Cast FNO video + Chris's icy glare at Darren + Darren checking Chris out like WOW = this: Klaine model!verse.

If it is awful, I sincerely apologise. I just saw a prompt for this type of fic on tumblr and, well, here we are now.


"Kurt, come o-"

"I said, no." Eyes narrowed, Kurt Hummel crossed his legs delicately at the ankle and trained his eyes on Mercedes. It wasn't often that his best-friend-turned-agent was insistent when it came to who Kurt had to work with, but for some unknown reason in this case, she would not budge. His face was blank, lips pursed into a thin line, and he returned to the intent inspection of his freshly manicured nails. He clucked his tongue morosely. The brushstroke was totally off on the slender nail of his pinky finger.

Mercedes sighed, exasperated. "You can't get out of this one, I'm afraid. The guy's already been signed on for the show, we don't want to look picky."

"But I am picky," Kurt muttered drily, thinking back to the vast hordes of chiseled yet inexperienced men he'd forced Mercedes to turn away in the past with only the faintest quirk of his lips. He raised his gaze to meet Mercedes', grey-blue irises burning with a bored sort of annoyance, and batted his lashes slowly, exaggeratedly. "If you bring him in here, I'll refuse to get on that runway. I will actually do that ridiculous, petulant diva thing that people are waiting for me to do and storm out of this building."

With that, the twenty-something Kurt Hummel tugged forcibly at his boots and sucked his teeth, proud. Mercedes rapped her nails against the bright blue clipboard against her chest three times before speaking. She'd have to take it slower. "Sweetie, no you won't," she mused calmly, leaning against the coffee table and watching as Kurt hummed thinly under his breath, "We've been been angling to book this show for almost three months. Three months, Kurt. I will not let you throw all my work away because of some damn grudge you hold against another model."

"You don't know what he did, Sweetie," Kurt retorted, venom almost visibly dripping from his tongue as he spat the final word. "You don't understand how he practically shamed me in fucking public in front of every big fucking name in the industry."

She winced slightly. Kurt wasn't usually so colourful in his word choice. "Seriously? All this rage over some old trophy? He is an up and coming model, Kurt. He's good at what he does. You have at least ten trophies to rival that one."

With a scoff of disgust, Kurt waved Mercedes off, rolling his eyes and glaring daggers at his foot. He hissed in contempt. The laces of his favourite shoes were twisted and the toe was scuffed it looked fucking hideous. Everything looked fucking hideous right now. Kurt swallowed thickly and glanced up at Mercedes through slitted eyes, capped by perfectly arched eyebrows which were knitted unattractively in the centre- the thought of Botox this early in his career was enough to smooth his brow entirely.

"Mercedes," he said slowly, eyes unwavering, "Listen carefully: I will not be working with Blaine Anderson."

Kurt Hummel was to be working with Blaine Anderson.

And it was going to be awful.

Grumbling started from the moment he woke up that morning, dragging him through a slump over lunch, making him irritable as the makeup artist began to work over the planes of his sallow, perpetually beautiful face and lasting all the way up to the final frivolous minutes in which he was practically shoved into an outfit and planted on the catwalk. Striding purposefully down the narrow platform, Kurt was in work mode. He might be eternally pissed at Mercedes for wrangling him into this, but on the other hand he was being paid to walk around in sumptuous clothing tailored perfectly for his body, specifically for this very night, and Kurt was never one to fall short of being fabulous on the runway. Casting his eyes around the room, cameras flash flash flashing short bursts of pure white light as he swung his hips, casual yet striking, he was utterly in his element. So much so, in fact, that he very nearly forgot that he would be sharing the spotlight, the delicious attention that only modeling could bring, with a certain Mr. Blaine Anderson.

Sure enough, as Kurt strutted his way down the light-studded platform, a relatively short man in a blinding crimson suit and crisp white shirt rounded the corner.

Kurt's eyes latched onto his immediately and it was as if time slowed to a sluggish, drawn-out pace, sound droned out by the simple drumming of his own blood as the two men surveyed one another. Blaine was still as infuriatingly gorgeous as ever, lustrous brown curls framing his face, large pools of glittering green-flecked hazel staring back at him below thick, raised eyebrows. Kurt glowered, fighting the blush that was demanding to flood his cheeks as Blaine shot him a small wink with a cocky smirk to rival only Kurt's own. Cameras flashed, ladies cooing from the far right. Blaine seemed to be making an impression.

Kurt could not have that.

He would not be out-shined again by this smug son of a bitch.

Rolling his eyes and feigning disinterest, Kurt gave a small spin in the middle of the runway, eyes quickly raking up and down Blaine's form because damn, he might hate the guy but Kurt could not help but find him stupidly, obscenely attractive. Blaine blew him a kiss as he passed Kurt, hand ghosting over the curve of Kurt's as as he sauntered ahead. Anger seared in his veins, bubbling over in his stomach, flaying the edges of his vision.

Why did he even have to put up with this?

The first thing he did when he stepped off the stage was shoot a truly blood-curdling glare at Mercedes. She merely shrugged in return.

"Quick, quick, vamos!"

Faster than he could say conniving, arrogant asshole, Kurt was being peeled at poked at by three stick figures of women and suddenly he was neatly dressed in his second outfit: a white dress shirt, tight black jeans and almost offensively bright red tie and beret. He marched back up onto the stage, catching Blaine's eye as he exited on the opposite side and blew another kiss. Kurt scowled.

But then with a flick of a mental switch, his face was flawless and fierce, perfection under the fast strobe lighting as he practically sliced a visible path through it in his wake. He was Kurt Hummel, sexy, assured, alluring, and he'd be damned if Blaine Anderson was going to beat him at his own game.

Blaine began his languid stride up the platform just as Kurt turned from the crowds, their eyes locking instantly; Blaine was now rid of the suit jacket, a vivid red scarf slung around his neck in a way which most would see as tastefully relaxed but Kurt saw as lazy and haphazard. Once again, the world slowed to a crawl and only they existed, eyes blazing and hearts thudding and Kurt's mind was a violently contrasting whirlwind of thoughts. He sucked at his teeth, maintaining a slow and steady rhythm with his steps, that tiny smirk still tugging at the corner of Blaine's full lips. Kurt felt the urge to kiss him suddenly.

On purely hateful grounds only, of course.

But it didn't help that Blaine's eyes were undressing him slowly; Kurt could tell that much as they brushed past one another once more, a sentiment which was affirmed almost instantly and Blaine reached out and tugged gently on Kurt's tie. Kurt kept walking, albeit slower and backwards, eyes trained on Blaine's whilst the rest of his face remained set. He was both intrigued and appalled at the tangibly crackling energy between them both, at the sea of things unsaid and actions untouched. Either that, or the intensity of the lights was addling his brain.

Dammit, Kurt, what are you doing? The point of this was to upstage him.

Blaine's eyes flickered to Kurt's parted lips, tongue flicking out to wet his own before pouting like a kicked puppy as Kurt continued to back away. He let go of the tie, hand outstretched mournfully, and spun around to face the eager cameras.

Kurt was seething now. He knew he would never forgive himself unless he did something big, something drastic. He had to think quickly, however, as more bony hands were stripping him of his current clothes and yanking him like a ragdoll into his third and final outfit of the evening- crimson jeans with the same white shirt, top three buttons undone, hat remaining in its jaunty position atop his perfectly coiffed hair. Wordlessly, he strode back to the stage, one hand firmly on his hip and smartly evading Blaine's leering. Confidence poured from his very being as he carved his way down the catwalk, mouth quirked in a playful half smile and chin bowed and cocked just so, allowing the lights to play across his face. When he reached the top of the runway, he threw his hat at a bewildered camera man and turned on his heel, hand patting once at his hair.

It was bold.

It was new.

It was fabulous.

Kurt was proud of himself for it.

Let's see Blaine try and top that, he smirked to himself as Blaine stepped out from behind the right side entrance.

Once again, everything was moving slowly. Pure electricity zinged back and forth between them, invisible to all but heavy and tense and Blaine just looked good enough to simultaneous kiss and kill, dressed back in the same red suit which he started in. He saw the lack of a certain red hat, taking in Kurt's smug smile and catlike ease as he stalked towards him, and Blaine didn't even stop himself from licking his lips.

If he wants to play this game, he'll get a damn game for sure.

Kurt was expecting Blaine to back down now- not many models would go so far as to blatantly toss away a piece of designer clothing, after all. He was expecting Blaine to shake his head and walk away and accept that Kurt was top dog, Kurt was king.

What he didn't expect was for Blaine to fist his hands in the material of Kurt's collar and pull him in for a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. Kurt's eyes snapped shut as he breathed in Blaine's cologne, his tongue momentarily lapping up the warm heat of Blaine's mouth as the other man dominated the kiss with sheer finesse. Blaine's tongue was... fuck. It was amazing. He dipped it into Kurt's mouth once, tickling at his teeth, before licking deeper inside, tracing along Kurt's obedient tongue and pulling away to bite hard on his lower lip. With a final harsh nip at the violently pinked flesh, Blaine shoved Kurt away and continued to swagger towards the now gaping crowds, towards the eager cameras which were flashing so fast that Kurt felt he went temporarily epileptic because he stood there for at least three whole seconds, bemused, before practically sprinting off stage.

Blood boiling, Kurt stormed off to his changing rooms. He could hear Mercedes' voice echoing behind him, urging him to come back, but only just. Kurt's ears were swimming with the sound of his own erratic heartbeat, fists curled at his sides as he slammed the door shut and gripped the edge of the dressing table, glaring fiercely at his own reflection.

You're pathetic.

He hated Blaine Anderson.

He hated him and his damn charm and his damn talented tongue and he just hate, hate, hated the man. He hated how he was stealing Kurt's runway, Kurt's very territory, and how he could make him want to ravish him against a wall and gut him alive at the same time.

He absolutely hated Blaine Anderson.

"Now now, Mr. Hummel, don't take your little bout of PMS out on your pretty reflection."

Kurt's eyes narrowed as he blinked via the mirror at Blaine's sudden appearance by the door. His breath was still coming in heated pants, nails clawing into the polished wood of the dresser. Seeing Blaine standing there, casually leaning against the door, arms tucked against his chest and head cocked curiously, Kurt willed him to be a figment of his overactive imagination.

Overactive and angry imagination.

He shut his eyes tightly, dropping his chin to his chest before hissing mutely, "Get out of here. Now."

Blaine tutted solemnly from his post at the door. "Ouch. Why so glum, sugar plum? No need to be mean."

"Mean?" Kurt scoffed, eyes opening slowly in disbelief, "You just showed me up in front of thousands of potential clients and I'm being mean?" He met Blaine's simper through the mirror in some ridiculous attempt at pretending he simply was not actually there. Blaine shrugged comically in response, eyes never leaving Kurt's. Kurt looked hot when he was angry, Blaine decided, as the intense twin crystal grey irises conveyed all the hurt and shame and, yes, lust that Kurt had been slowly allowing to build. Blaine almost felt bad for him, but that would be silly.

Kurt rolled his eyes in that offhand way he was so renowned for, turning to face Blaine properly. "What do you want?" He asked tiredly, body slumped in quiet defeat, "You already have the press. My press, I might add, but I'm too angry and exhausted to give a fuck currently."

"You need to relax, Kurt," Blaine said, voice gruffer than usual as he walked tentatively towards the other model. Kurt's arms were stretch out either side, inner wrists showing a delicate tracery of blue veins visible through paper white skin, shirt pulled apart at the neck from his stance. His legs, which seemed to go on for miles in those jeans, were spread apart, the left knee bent at a small angle, and Blaine was hopeless in resisting. Kurt could be angry all he wanted, but that wouldn't change the fact that he was damn sexy.

Similarly, Blaine was damn sexy too.

So the shorter, curly headed man didn't see any reason why he shouldn't stride on up in between Kurt's legs, hands skimming down his sides and effectively caging Kurt in. Kurt's body went rigid, a small tremble shaking his frame as Blaine gazed at him from mere inches away, eyes bright and beautiful and oh god, Blaine's hands were now gripping Kurt's hips tightly, stroking at the thin material of his shirt as if it was possible to rub it off Kurt's body.

"You're so tense, Kurt. I'm not going to eat you." Maybe.

"No, you won't. You'll just take my job in one fell swoop and I'll be a gutter rat, awesome."

"Calm down."


Blaine let his hands trail from Kurt's hips to rest lightly either side of Kurt on the dresser, walking his fingers along the table surface to stroke at Kurt's balled fists "You need to work off that tension. It isn't healthy for you," Blaine whispered. He was already breathing heavily, eyes hooded and lips tingling to be in firm contact with Kurt's.

"You're not healthy for me," Kurt spat vehemently. His body seemed to disagree wholly, however, as he found himself restraining every urge to yank Blaine's chest against his own, to kiss him again and touch him and- no, stop.

"Yeah?" Blaine's mouth was right by Kurt's ear, nose nuzzling into his soft hair as he barely uttered the word. Silently, steadily, Blaine's fingers began tickling at the back of Kurt's hands, featherlight touches dancing up and over Kurt's arms, stroking the skin of his neck, running down to brush over the V of exposed chest before snatching back at his hips, crushing their bodies together. "Are you sure about that?" Blaine moaned low into Kurt's ear as his own half-hard state ground into Kurt's, and Kurt couldn't stifle the whine rumbling in the back of his throat, head tilting back ever so. Blaine's lips dragged over the area just under Kurt's ear, two days' worth of suave stubble prickling the delicate column of Kurt's exposed neck, and he began sucking hard, tongue flickering out to taste Kurt, breath Kurt in. "Because it feels-" Blaine accentuated his point by rutting harshly against him, making Kurt gasp and keen desperately, "-like you actually think I'm just what you need right now."

And with that, Kurt's resolve crumbled.

His hands found Blaine's unruly curls, clutching at them as if he was a life raft and Kurt was a drowning man, leaning back against the desk and letting his head drop back to allow better access. Blaine sucked and licked and bit Kurt's neck, peppering its entire surface before reaching up to rip the rest of his shirt open, thumbing his already peaked nipples hard. Whimpering, Kurt untangled his hands to grab Blaine's face and crash their mouths together. It was a messy kiss, tongues dueling aggressively and teeth nipping at lips, noses bumping and hands grabbing and wandering, but there was that very same crackling electricity thrumming between them, encasing them both entirely in a web of something neither man actually understood, but somehow knew just how to handle.

Blaine chuckled as he licked a hard, wet stripe up Kurt's smooth chin, pressing a loud kiss to his temple. "I knew we were going to end up like this the moment I saw you on that runway."

Growling his disagreement, Kurt unknotted Blaine's tie and used it to angle Blaine's mouth to hover over his own. He licked at Blaine's parted lips. "Presumptuous bastard."

"You're such a fucking bitch, Kurt Hummel," Blaine groans against Kurt's lips. Kurt replies in the form of sucking Blaine's lower lip hard into his mouth, biting so hard at the swollen flesh that Blaine flinches back slightly. Kurt swore he could taste blood. Blaine's shirt joins Kurt's on the floor in one quick motion, leaving them chest to chest and gasping into each other's mouths.

Blaine's hands flew to Kurt's belt buckle and undid the intricate lock mechanism with practised, deft fingers. One hand on Kurt's chin, he leans in for a lingering, deep kiss, sucking hard on Kurt's tongue.

"Can I blow you?"

Kurt retracts his tongue long enough to capture Blaine's in between his sharp teeth, wrenching a yelp of pain and equal parts pleasure from the unsuspecting man. "Is that even a relevant question?" He breathed in response.

Blaine grinned impossibly wide, hurriedly pecking a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down Kurt's neck, tongue paying extra attention to the bobbing rise of his Adam's apple, past his collar bones, and stopping briefly to lick at each of Kurt's nipples in turn. Kurt groaned at the sensation, imagining how the wet heat of Blaine's incredible mouth would feel on his cock.

As if reading Kurt's thoughts, Blaine was on his knees in a heartbeat, tugging Kurt's jeans down as fast as he could work with the skintight garment. He only stopped momentarily to comment on Kurt's erection ("Damn, I love a guy who goes commando in tight pants." "Fuck off, Anderson, or I'll call my lawyer." "Oh, kinky.") before nibbling at Kurt's hipbones, that talented tongue of his swirling and licking and if Blaine didn't stop fucking around right now, Kurt would just come on his face.

Which was painfully not a bad idea at the time.

"Just fucking suck my cock already," Kurt moaned, tangling his fingers in Blaine's sweaty curls. Blaine hummed, kissing the base of Kurt's cock and looking up hungrily at him through sweat beaded lashes.

"So demanding. This is why people like me more, I'm more compliant."

Aggravated, Kurt was about to deliver a snappy retort before- "Oh sweet jesus, fuck."

Hands digging into his ass and still humming brazenly, Blaine had swallowed Kurt's entire length in one go. Kurt could barely breathe, head thrown back, hips bucking into the damp warmth of Blaine's mouth. He'd had blowjobs in the past, but looking down at Blaine's curly head bobbing up and down, one hand having sneaked around his waist to palm at himself and making obscene sounds with his hollowed cheeks, Kurt was left gasping already. Blaine was sucking earnestly, hard and fast, pulling Kurt out slowly to suck at the leaking head of his cock before sinking back down. Kurt would've been surprised at how much Blaine himself was enjoying it if he wasn't too busy trying to keep standing despite his buckling knees. As Blaine growled, low and animalistic, around Kurt's aching erection, one hand cupping his balls, the other still pawing at his ass, Kurt felt a tight heat clutch in the pit of his stomach.

He tugged Blaine's hair, not trusting himself to speak. "Blaine- I-I'm-"

Kurt could feel Blaine grinning around his cock, moving faster, sucking harder still, moving his hand to pump the base of Kurt's cock and before Kurt knew it he was stuttering obscenities as he came hard, Blaine swallowing every last drop. Once Kurt's hips had stopped shuddering, he let Kurt slip from his lips and finally Blaine was able to properly reach down and palm himself roughly through his pants, desperate for some sort of friction- he was aching.

Kurt, panting and spent, let himself crumple to the floor. He was grinning dumbly, in too much of a post-orgasm haze to care that he'd just gotten blown by one of the most obnoxious names in male modeling to realise what ghastly activity Blaine was up to before it was too late.

"No, Blaine, wa-"

"Fuck," he winced through gritted teeth, swallowing hard as he slowed his rubbing down to a lazy pace, sensitive after having come so hard. He grinned dopily across at Kurt, who stared back in stunned horror.

Kurt pointed to Blaine's pants. Then to Blaine's face. Then he covered his own face. "Blaine, you idiot."

"What? I thought you'd be glad not to have to return the favour. I didn't want you gnawing my dick off because of how angry you are at me and-"

"You just came in a pair of $500 Armani suit pants," Kurt interrupted bluntly.

Blaine blinked. "Oh."

Rolling his eyes for about the billionth time that day, Kurt stumbled to his feet, yanked his pants up, and then toed Blaine in the knee to follow suit. "Come on. I have a trick that might just work with those utterly ruined pants."

Blaine stood up, snatching his shirt off the ground. "Life saver."

"No, honey, I'm a model."