Oh hey. Remember this? Yeah, I was inspired, so here have more fic. Sorry it took forever and a year!
"So, basically, you found your roommate and your boyfriend fucking each other in your bed," Kurt summarizes. Blaine flinches.
"You don't have to put it so… so…"
"Well that's what happened," Kurt says huffily, and Blaine can practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose. "Blaine, I love you, but you really need to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt. Look where you've ended up!"
"Hung-over and miserable and dreading my own radio show?"
"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."
He can hear Kurt tutting on the other end of the line again.
"You know I don't mean it like that," the other says soothingly. "But, honey, you're too trusting. Promise me you'll learn from this. And also promise me you'll never go out drinking again. I can practically smell the fumes on you from here."
"I won't," Blaine sighs. "I just… I wish you were still here." He makes a face, feeling bitter resentment stir in his stomach again for this stepbrother of Kurt's he's never met. He couldn't believe that he'd somehow managed to sweet-talk Kurt into returning to his hometown, saying that he needed someone to help manage the garage – or whatever the hell it was – since their father had decided for his mid-life crisis he was going to move himself and his wife to Colorado to "see the mountains."
"I do too, believe me," Kurt echoes Blaine's sigh. "Just… divorce your roommate and find someone else. I'm sure Rachel would take you in for a few days if you needed somewhere to stay."
"I kicked them both out, actually," Blaine says, a proud smile creeping onto his face despite himself. "I kicked them both out and threw all of his clothes out after them. And those stupid posters of that terrible band he always listens to. I kept his McQueen jacket, though, because I know you'd take much better care of it than he has been."
"Blaine Anderson, I could kiss you if it wouldn't make me throw up," Kurt says. "That jacket is a jewel in his otherwise horrendous wardrobe and you've just done the entire world a public service."
Part of him wishes that this didn't feel so ordinary. Maybe finding his first dance partner isn't the only science he's learned inside this building; he might have learned the science of having quick, anonymous sex in the back room as well. Because once he gets someone back here, it becomes a game to see how fast he can go but still make it worthwhile at the same time. He can hardly take his time, not when he knows he has another set in roughly three hours, but he can't spend those three hours back here, kissing Blaine and figuring out how to make him come completely undone.
But, fuck, he'd like to.
Finding someone he isn't just using as a way to get off is a rare occurrence. Typically Jesse might latch onto someone he finds attractive and take them to the back purely because he can and he knows they want it. But when he finds someone he genuinely wants to be with for these stolen minutes, suddenly minutes don't seem like enough. He wants to spend hours back here, dragging things out for as long as he can.
He's not sure what it is about Blaine that drew him in. He's typically not the type who goes after the first timers, not for sex at least, but Blaine hit every one of his physical attraction points on the dot. He's shorter than Jesse, and he has dark hair and dark eyes. And when he starts on the buttons of Blaine's shirt, kissing his way down that chest, he finds a fair bit of hair underneath. And Jesse has always liked a bit of hair on his men.
But that still doesn't explain why he's back here now, pushing Blaine's shirt off his shoulders and pressing gentle kisses along his collarbone. He's being much gentler than he usually would be, for most would come in here to promptly have their pants pulled down and a hickey sucked onto their throat while Jesse made quick work of things. He tells himself it's just because Blaine is a first timer. If he'd needed that much time to get used to dancing… Yeah. That's it.
"You… you lied," Blaine tells him, his voice sounding unbelievably breathy.
"Did I?" Jesse smirks up at him from where he's been kissing his chest. "I prefer to think of it as an omission of detail." He knows exactly what Blaine's referring to. "I'm not a regular, despite spending every night in this club."
"Do you–" Blaine is cut off when Jesse moves up to his throat, keeping with tradition and starting to suck at the skin there. He gasps, one hand clenching around Jesse's shoulder, but he doesn't push him away. "D-do you," he tries again, "spend every night back here with someone, too?"
Fuck. Jesse can hear the vulnerability in his voice, hear how he wants to be told that no, he's the exception to the rule. It isn't the first time this has happened. There had been a girl a few months ago who had asked the very same question, the same timidity in her voice when she asked. That had been the only time someone had slapped him and left him back here, and Jesse isn't keen on having a repeat of that night.
"Not every night," he says, gently brushing his lips against the skin around the hickey. "Just Fridays."
"I-it's Wednesday," Blaine gets out, making Jesse chuckle.
"Fine, then," he concedes, but his hand is now working on the fly of Blaine's pants. "Wednesdays, too." He starts kissing Blaine again, not missing how he responds, kissing back eagerly despite the vulnerability that had been evident in his voice before. Maybe Blaine doesn't care; maybe he'd just been curious. He says nothing else, regardless, his lips gentle against Jesse's, sighing into his mouth, both hands clutching at Jesse's shirt. It's obvious that even if Blaine does care, he clearly wants the sex more.
It's different than the times Jesse's been back here with another man. Sometimes it feels almost like a fight between the pair of them, a competition to see who's more dominant. Blaine isn't docile, but he doesn't try to force Jesse's hand, either. It's almost sweet in a sense, how gentle his hands are, only reacting when Jesse's mouth or his hands find somewhere new. When he does react, it's quiet and short-lived, a soft moan when Jesse finds a new spot to kiss him or a gasp when Blaine's body moves in a way that clearly surprises him.
The only time that changes is when the pair finally stumble onto the oversized couch (that is disinfected and power-washed every single night, thank you very much), and Blaine's grip on Jesse is practically vice-like. He pulls Jesse down on top of him, arms wrapping around him and holding him so tightly that he makes it hard for them to move. Jesse isn't sure why he suddenly wants to stop and take a breather, but he doesn't object, just goes back to kissing Blaine and feeling his grip loosen as his mouth opens.
And that's when he asks.
"Would you like me to fuck you?"
People could say whatever the hell they wanted about this club, slam it for being a dirty place made for nothing but cheap hookups and for its performers to take advantage of the crowd, but that last part would never be true. They had rules here, and no matter what else went on that could be considered questionable by law, they never took something that wasn't offered.
"Y-yes," is the answer, and Jesse smirks. He kisses Blaine again, licking into his mouth, wordlessly thanking him, because never let it be said that Jesse St. James doesn't know how to show his appreciation for the answer he wants. Moving to Blaine's neck, his hands traveling down his body to get rid of the rest of his clothing, Jesse promises, "No strings attached."
Sometimes that's when people pull away and say no. It's happened once or twice, because apparently hearing the words aloud makes something click into place. Jesse even forces himself to pull away, giving Blaine a couple seconds to focus not on what he was feeling, but what had just been said. When he looks into the man's face, he watches him pull his lower lip between his teeth. That's as clear as a no had he spoken the word aloud, so Jesse starts to sit up, already wondering if he'll be able to just go right back out there without worrying about getting rid of the bulge in his pants or if he'll have to take care of it himself, first.
Blaine doesn't let him get very far. He sits up, too, reaching out to cup Jesse's cheek, kissing him gently on the corner of his mouth, as if they hadn't just explored each other's mouths.
"I just…" he bites his lip again, "I want to. I really, really want to. But…" he pauses again, his eyes focusing on Jesse's mouth, tongue poking out to wet his already shining and slightly puffy lips. Trying to help both of them make a level-headed decision, Jesse lifts his body from where he's still partially resting on Blaine, but that just makes one of Blaine's hands shoot out and grab his arm.
"Fuck it," Blaine says then, and then he's pulling Jesse back down and his other hand is suddenly everywhere. Jesse feels it on his chest, his stomach, reaching down for the waistband of his boxers, but then it's back up and cupping his cheek. "I just," his breath hitches when Jesse presses his hips down and into Blaine's, "I don't… I can't…"
"We don't have to," Jesse tells him, kissing him again before working his way down Blaine's neck, onto his chest. "I'll take care of it." And then he's kissing and mouthing his way down Blaine's stomach, and he feels the man shuddering and knows that Blaine's figured out what he's doing. When he hears a rather broken-sounding, "Yes," that's all the permission he needs before removing the last of Blaine's clothing, smirking up at him for a moment and then taking him into his mouth.
At first it's a little weird, because Jesse simply doesn't do this. He's not exactly practiced in this particular art, so it takes a bit longer for him to settle into some kind of rhythm. It's by no means the first time he's attempted it, because back in college he'd had a boyfriend who'd loved nothing more than to watch Jesse get down on his knees, but that's a whole other story entirely and probably why he's gotten out of the habit of doing this in the first place. So at first, yes, it's weird, but then he starts listening to the noises Blaine is making now, and it stops being weird and starts being nice.
Better than nice, really.
It's pretty fucking fantastic.
The quiet and awkward man Jesse had first spotted was being quite noisy now, seemingly forgetting where they were in favor of focusing on what he was feeling. Jesse can't help but feel incredibly satisfied, knowing how at first he'd wanted to spend hours back here figuring out how to make Blaine come completely undone, but now it looks as if he'd accomplished that pretty damn quickly.
He even found it endearing how Blaine reached down and started shoving him off when he knew he was getting close. Not one to argue (because this might have been fucking fantastic, but he wasn't about to get the evidence in his mouth), Jesse did as bidden, his hand picking right up where his mouth left off and moving back up to kiss Blaine until he was completely spent.
"D-do you want me to," Blaine starts to ask, but Jesse shuts him up with his mouth.
"Just reach down and give it a good squeeze," is what he says when he pulls away, smirking. And Blaine does, gentle and hesitant at first, just as he had been when this whole thing started, but then he's the one finding a proper rhythm and it's still gentler than what Jesse does to himself, but he doesn't really care. His own breathing stutters, and he groans out Blaine's name when he feels himself coming, which is pretty fucking impressive considering the number of times he's done this with random strangers.
Blaine seems to realize that this means they've finished, for he's back to being bashful. He pulls away when Jesse tries to kiss him, mumbling something about how they should clean themselves up.
"There's a sink in the corner," Jesse points in the general direction, not wanting to get up and move yet. Blaine, on the other hand, gets up and walks over, either unaware or ignoring how Jesse was giving him a once-over as he walked. He hadn't been given a good look at Blaine's body before, and maybe this was the reverse of how things usually worked, but he doesn't really care. His eyes linger on Blaine's ass, wetting his lips before they curl up into a smirk. When Blaine turns around, he holds out a towel, not even needing to ask the question because Jesse immediately supplies, "Yes, that's what it's there for. And yes, we throw them out when we're done."
He can practically feel Blaine blushing when the man returns to the couch and hesitantly reaches out, starting to clean Jesse off rather than simply taking care of himself and then handing the towel over. It's sweet and endearing.
"So, I know you said no strings attached," Blaine starts, looking down at Jesse's chest, "but… if you ever wanted me to… I mean I sort of owe you one and if you ever wanted me to… return the favor–"
"I'll find you," probably isn't what Jesse's supposed to say, but the words come out anyway. Blaine looks up, catching his gaze and seemingly unable to stop himself from smiling. His lips keep twitching, but the smile remains, and his hand stills for so long that Jesse reaches out to take the towel from him. That seems to remind Blaine what he had been doing, but Jesse's cleaned up now, anyway, so he reaches out towards the other. Blaine, it seems, has a different idea, taking the towel and starting to clean himself.
"Uh… you're working… aren't you?"
Jesse knows better than to push something. Even if he wanted to, pursuing a relationship with Blaine would never work. Blaine clearly thinks that once they've done the deed, Jesse plans to drop him and leave. And, for all intents and purposes, he's not wrong. That's how it's worked in the past, so that's how it would be now.
"I guess I am," is what Jesse says in response. He starts collecting his clothes, tugging them back on and smoothing them out, then does the same with his hair. Unlike some, Blaine hadn't yanked it all out of its styled hold, and anyway, everyone knows what happened back here. Nobody expects him to come out looking the same way he had when he walked in.
He looks back over at Blaine periodically as he dresses, occasionally catching him stiffening, as if he's about to say something. He never does, though, just finishes up and tosses the towel in the trash, starting to pick up his own clothes. The air between them feels awkward now, completely different from how it had felt when they'd come in. Jesse isn't sure why, but he doesn't dwell on it. He just waits for Blaine to dress himself.
"I can't leave you alone back here," is what Jesse says when Blaine looks up and cocks his head slightly.
"Right," Blaine nods, tugging his shirt back over his head. "Let's go, then." He moves as if to pass Jesse and exit first, but then pauses. Jesse watches his fingers twitch, and he's about to ask if the other's okay but he can't because Blaine's mouth is once again covering his own.
He's being steered into a wall, stumbling a little because of the suddenness of it all. One of Blaine's arms is around his waist, his fingers clutching at the folds of his shirt. Jesse can feel them digging in close to his skin, feels how Blaine almost pinches him as his hold on the fabric of his shirt tightens. His other hand is tangled in Jesse's curls.
The shy and timid man who wouldn't even look at him five seconds ago is completely gone. Blaine's hands aren't moving, but his grip is tight and his mouth is insistent enough to make up for his stillness. Jesse is the one whose mouth being coaxed open this time, and it's easy to let himself get lost in the feel of it. He's always the one who leads things, always the one who takes the initiative, and Blaine's caught him completely off guard here.
He likes it.
They're kissing so deeply that for a moment Jesse can't really tell where his mouth ends and Blaine's starts, but as soon as he starts to wrap his own arms around Blaine, the other pulls away. A string of saliva stretches between their mouths, both of their lips parted.
It breaks when Blaine, breathing heavily, turns away and leaves. Jesse's left back there, slumped against the wall, fingers tingling with the way things felt unfinished. Then he's laughing, and he reaches up to wipe his mouth and he knows his lips have to be impossibly swollen but he can't quite bring himself to care at the moment. He raises his wrist to check his watch, because he still has another set at some point in the near future, but before he can even look at it Blaine comes back in.
For one wild second Jesse thinks they're about to pick up right where they left off and try for a take two, but then he realizes that Blaine's moving his lips so he can speak, instead.
"I don't know your name," he says, shaking his head. "I just realized… you never told me. I-I thought you did, and now… now it's just awkward but I still wanted to ask."
Jesse smiles, but it's a fixed smile. Sometimes this question never gets asked at all, and those are the nights he likes best. The crowd might know him, might be able to recognize his face, but none of them knew his name. That was the whole point of this club. The musicians here weren't here to get their names recognized or to break into the industry. This club thrived on anonymity. Jesse was nothing more than that one singer who always sang about fucking people or going out partying. He was the one who took risks and didn't bother saying he was 'making love' when everyone knew he only needed four letters to describe it.
And when he is asked, he can say whatever he wants. He could give them any name he wants. Some find this incredibly petty and annoying, but Jesse likes it. This way when he actually does have a career, only a few people will be able to trace him back here. It's not that he regrets taking this job, or that he hates it, but being a glorified whore really doesn't look good on a resume.
But Blaine's waiting for an answer and he has to say something, and he really doesn't want to call himself 'Paul' again.
"James," is what he settles on.
Because, hey, that's kind of the truth.