Boys Seldom Make Passes At Boys With Flat Asses:
A Sex Seminar With Santana Lopez
Word Count: 5,074
Spoilers: S3, Asian F
Warnings: Sexual Content, Language
Summary: “You do want Kurt to like what you’ve giving him, right? It’s a gift, and while I don’t believe in the saying it’s better to give than to receive, you don’t want him to ask for a gift receipt ‘cause it sucked. So you better suck dick like you were born to do it.” Y'all, Blaine may have gotten in a little over his head. Thus, Santana teaches him about the proper way to give head. Among other things.
Prompt Used: Blaine seeks out Santana for sex advice.
Author's Notes: With the greatest amount of adoration to fourfreedoms for solidly kicking my ass with a thorough beta and major hugs to ccmskatechick for the beta.
“Okay, so here’s the Grooming 101: you’ve got to keep your business tight before your man’s eye starts wandering. Though anyone can see that bow tie from space, Jesus, Anderson.” She covers her eyes with her hand like she’s being blinded and Blaine nervously smoothes the bow tie. Kurt had given his seal approval with a brushed finger underneath it and pronouncing it cute.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Sorry to interrupt, but what exactly does that have to do with—?”
“Manscaping, Hobbit Two. This is today’s lesson.” There is nothing written on the classroom board but she taps on it nevertheless, smearing away a constellation. “As I was saying, manscaping. Since you rock a five o’clock shadow at 10am, we gots to get all this,” she waves a hand in the general direction of his face, frowning, “taken care of before you mess up your boy’s delicate Clinique counter face.”
“Kurt doesn’t use Clinique,” Blaine says, because it’s the only point he can argue right now, as he’d had to grudgingly accept the title of Hobbit Two. Rachel Berry is Hobbit Numero Uno according to Santana and it is one of her least hurtful nicknames.
Plus, for all the insults and slightly terrifying information that Santana dishes out, Blaine is learning a lot.
This isn’t how it started, of course.
Blaine hates to admit it but he is terribly confused by Santana.
Her plot to set the piano on fire had been a good one, as it had hit on one of his weaker points to great distraction. Blaine is a little dependant on backup. He’s learned to go with anything when it happens while performing due to rowdy theme park guests interrupting shows every now and then. But really, he should’ve guessed that the cheerleaders would be carrying ignition fluids in their uniforms. Because there always had to be a master (evil) plan.
It’s a good reminder to expect the unexpected at McKinley, but he still doesn’t quite understand why she’d been so friendly to him during the performance.
He kind of wants to get to know her more. Obviously, he’ll have to ask his one real source of information about it because it’s not like Santana’s about to accept a friend request on Facebook.
“Sometimes she and Rachel smile at each other when they’re performing,” Kurt explains after school, ducking under his bed to retrieve Blaine’s bow tie that had gotten lost during their study break/heated make out that got cut short the moment Kurt’s dad arrived home. “Once they held hands and they have hugged after we finish a competition song. That’s not a sign of friendship. It’s a trap, a trick of performing with Santana. It’s her nice game face.”
Kurt’s fingers on Blaine’s mouth are nice even when Kurt’s doing it to silence him. He pulls his hand away to kiss him softly, saying against Blaine’s lips, “Don’t question it.”
“I really liked dancing with her.”
“Why are we still talking about this when we could be kissing?”
That’s a good question, technically they should be pretending to do their homework, at least until Mr. Hummel gets distracted while watching ESPN and starts arguing with the sportscasters, as he’s wont to do, but it’s worth it to sneak a few quiet kisses. It’s even better when Kurt’s hands slide down his body, fitting against his waist.
It’s a firm, steady grip, fuck, Kurt is so strong but Blaine’s behaving himself and not moaning at all when Kurt deepens the kiss because he doesn’t want to get thrown out of the Hudson-Hummel household for being indecent.
Though sometimes he doesn’t think that’ll be the worst thing to happen. Kurt’s hands start roaming and Blaine desperately tries to hide all evidence of how hard is he because god, he is not ready to talk about that yet.
Santana pulls him aside after one of the first rehearsals for West Side Story and stares at him so hard that Blaine thinks for one brief moment that she possesses X-ray vision or some kind of telepathy. He makes the mistake of looking directly into her eyes and he freezes, reflexively smiling back at her because he has no idea what else to do.
After this long moment, she pronounces a decisive judgment. “No. No way. I am not dealing with baby gay sexual tension all up in my business. And with us doing this musical on top of glee club? Makes it my business.”
Blaine splutters and she sighs, grabbing one of his suspenders and letting it go, the snap hitting Blaine right against his nipple. It hurts a hell of a lot and he can’t help wincing though he’s surprised he doesn’t yelp out loud. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to figure out if she’s bluffing just to mess with him or if she really knows.
“When you’re ready, ask me and I’ll see about helping you out.”
He knows the real question he ought to ask is: how are you going to help me? and that the fake question is: I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why do you think I need your help? So naturally he asks, “What am I, a charity case?”
She glares at him and says, “You know what? Not worth my time.”
He likes to watch Kurt maybe a little too much, which is why he had to stop participating in booty camp. Mike Chang had given him the out, clapping him on the shoulder and saying, “You’re picking up the steps fine.”
He’d also mentioned that Blaine should only focus on fellow dancers when they were working on partnering as it’s easy to get distracted doing solo steps if you’re concentrating on what everyone else is doing.
It’s the nicest stop ogling your boyfriend advice he’s ever going to get and Blaine takes it because Mike’s pretty cool.
However, Kurt’s ass is kind of amazing when he shimmies so he doesn’t understand why Mike is critical about it.
Okay, fine yes, it’s very distracting, but in a good way, so he’s back to square one. Quitting booty camp before it’s revealed to everyone how much his body really, really likes Kurt is a self-preservation tactic. He adores those old sweatpants of his but there’s no foolproof way to hide an erection.
Also not helpful? What’s happening to him right at this very moment. Kurt’s hastily tugging off a police uniform shirt (a leftover in the theater wardrobe), his undershirt riding up exposing the impossibly paler skin of his stomach. He’s talking to Blaine at the same time, probably about how he’s going to make his own costume if this is what they can expect because it barely fits across his chest—and this is what Blaine does hear beyond the rushing white noise humming in his ears: “You don’t think I’ve gotten bigger this summer, do you?”
He eyes Blaine for a moment, waiting for an answer, and maybe there’s just an increased touch of difference in height too. Blaine kind of digs it, especially since he sometimes spends his time staring at the curve of Kurt’s neck when it’s too much to gaze into his eyes. Kurt can strip him bare with just a look and he wants too much.
But broader, oh there is indeed physical evidence of that, so he manages to choke out, “A bit, maybe?”
Kurt frowns, muttering about how some backordered shirts he’d bought might not fit and they’re not really ideal for winter weather and he has no idea when he’ll have time to work on alterations.
Meanwhile, Blaine is dying because his boyfriend is incredibly hot and standing around in just an undershirt. He should not be thinking naked thoughts right now.
He can hear the faint rustle of judgment over his shoulder and doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Santana. She has some random question for Kurt of all people, and Blaine uses that as his escape.
Later when Kurt’s gotten dressed and some of Blaine’s blood flow has been redirected to his brain, Santana comes over, tugging Blaine next to her, saying that he has her script.
“They’re the same,” Kurt begins but Santana ignores him.
As she and Blaine swap scripts or pretend to, a complicated sleight of hand that makes Blaine feel like he’s part of some elaborate conspiracy, Santana mutters, “That was a freebie, me saving you from losing it in front of your boy. Fess up and this could be real easy.”
He doubts it’ll be easier but he’s so crazed right now that Santana makes a lot of sense. Desperation does that.
“Fine. I need some advice,” Blaine says to Santana the next day during a rehearsal break as they fill up water bottles at one of the hallway fountains.
“You’d look terrible as a redhead,” Santana offers, finding the one loose curl in his hair and tugging it. “Oh, I was hoping it would make a noise like a spring. Turns out you just over-gel the shit out of your hair.”
“Um. Not that. Sort of, you know…” He trails off but she continues to stare at him, her smile so sweet that Blaine nervously looks around, wondering if this is another elaborate, needlessly complicated scheme. “Could I ask you something in private?”
She grins. “Step inside my office.”
She holds the crook of his elbow to guide him as they head to what Blaine’s pretty sure is the Astronomy room. He doesn’t have class there but he’s heard stories. As well as an offhand comment that Kurt made to Finn that if Finn wouldn’t mention him and Blaine spending a good portion of their date nights in the backseat of Kurt’s car then Finn’s multiple adventures in the Astronomy room wouldn’t be known either.
The door firmly shuts behind her and Santana strides over to the teacher’s desk, waiting for him to talk. When he doesn’t, she says, “God you are the worst kind of virgin.”
“You’re seeking out advice on how to score with your equally virgin boyfriend, if not the emperor of all virgins.” She considers this, tapping a finger to her chin. “I don’t know which of you I find more offensive as far as purity goes.”
“Well, what do you have in mind?” Blaine doesn’t mean to snap, except he really does because he just wanted to ask Santana some vague advice after tricking her into liking him. Hell, at this point, he’s desperate enough to ask her exactly how he can get into Kurt’s pants without flailing into a situation he isn’t ready for that can only end in embarrassment.
Sitting on the teacher’s desk, Santana crosses her legs, one foot kicking the air and nearly making contact with Blaine’s knee. Fortunately, he dodges away and she clicks her tongue, disappointed.
“Let’s get one thing straight.”
“How I’m clearly not straight?”
She glares. “You’re spending your FNG time at McKinley popping boners and it’s pathetic.”
“Fuckin’ new guy,” she clarifies, flashing teeth in nothing like a smile. “You’re the newest transfer, that’s what everyone calls you. Or That Kid Afraid of Socks. But FNG’s easier. So it’s time for Auntie ‘Tana to teach you a few things so you can be F’d NG. Fucked New Guy. Leave all pearl necklaces at the counter, this is 101 basics.”
“Kurt’s more of a fan of chokers,” Blaine interrupts, because he’s been on the end of an impassioned speech/rant about the tackiness of men wearing necklaces. At that time, Kurt was wearing a bejeweled bow tie that seriously tested the boundary between male and female accessories (but was still gorgeous nevertheless). It ended well enough in that they went up to Kurt’s bedroom to make out for a while, but he never forgets that in some circumstances, a choker can emphasize the lines of the neck, so long as it isn’t tacky. Blaine would’ve agreed anyway because he really likes Kurt’s neck, especially when his lips get to spend quality time there.
“Chokers? Seriously? I should charge you for this,” she mutters. “No, wait. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Um, you want cash for sex advice?”
“No, I want to be paid in things. I want a Kindle or a DSW gift certificate. Bring either of those tomorrow and we’ll start the crash course in not offending me with your pathetic cloud of sexual frustration.” She glances at the clock on the wall and nods. “’Kay, time’s up. I am not missing out on seeing Rachel sing over you while you two do like all Hollywood couples do and pretend to be into each other. It’s going to be hilarious.”
She strides out of the room, and Blaine follows after a pause, hoping that he’ll be able to figure out a decent lie as to why he disappeared during the break. Maybe he can successfully claim he got lost since apparently he’s gained a FNG reputation.
“First up: what am I working with?”
Blaine stares at her. “Well Kurt and I have been dating since March and while the summer was, well it was amazing, my parents had a pretty strict curfew especially on days that I was working so that I didn’t tire myself out trying to do too many things—”
“Except for doing Kurt,” Santana says and Blaine stumbles, unsure of what exactly he’s supposed to be explaining.
“Um, we’re both in love and going to the same school, it’s, okay, I just love getting to see Kurt every day. I love that he gave me flowers before I even got the part, I mean, he’s just amazing in every way and I want him to feel the same way. About me. So. That’s um, I guess what I want.”
“Oh my god, please stop before I start puking glitter.” She shudders, cracking her neck and turns her dark, magic eyes on him. “I meant how far you’ve gone, glorified Newsies extra. I’m betting you’re rounding base…one and a half? That doesn’t seem right. I can usually sense these things better but other than Kurt’s smug I have a man face, he’s weirdly great at hiding what you two have been doing. The first time Tina gave Mike a handjob, I knew the next day. God, they were so obvious.”
“I really don’t need to know that about Mike.” He’d like to be able to come out of these sessions not knowing the nitty gritty details of everyone else’s experiences, especially as he’d like to be able to look at them in the eye. Puck’s already bad enough with his vocal bragging about his personal history and then there’s Santana’s loaded innuendos, along with Brittany’s cheerfully oblivious comments and he would like to un-learn those little facts. “Can’t you just get a read off of me?”
He isn’t even pretending anymore that he’s reliant on Santana and she seems to relish it.
“Fine, we’ll do this the hard way. I’m gonna open up the library and read you hard.” She stands close to him, tipping his chin up, moving his face to each side, and Blaine wonders if she’s examining his pores as well. “Other than you’re jerking off at about the average boy pace, obviously, and it’s not enough to keep you calm, I’d say you’re stranded on second base. No, wait, you’re halfway to third though I doubt you’ve done any of the fun second base stuff. Shirtless making out. That’s it.”
“This is why I prefer football,” Blaine grumbles.
“Aww, poor baby, don’t worry, I’ve got a few tips to make being stuck on second real fun.”
He isn’t that stressed out. Rachel calling him pitchy hadn’t hurt at all, he’s not a jumble of nerves that he’s not right for the part, that this has all been a huge mistake and he’s going to embarrass himself in front of this school; none of this is true.
Because if it were, he’d be right in the middle of a pity make out session and it feels way too good for this to be anything other than awesome kissing just for the sake of kissing. In fact, sitting up in Kurt’s bed to continue this is really kind of silly as he wants to mouth along Kurt’s neck and feel the vibrations from within, the hidden murmurs of Kurt wanting more. Yes, sinking backwards is awesome and he’s leaning over Kurt and everything is going well. Until.
That is the first official contact of their dicks, hard, against each other. Through layers, but it’s obvious, wow is it so very obvious and he pulls back, hates that he pulls back, but does it anyway because it’s the right thing to do. Blaine says, “Um, should we stop?”
Kurt blinks, like the words take forever to register and he stares at Blaine. “Are you kidding?”
“Sorry. I just. This is a lot.”
“You’re right,” Kurt says simply. “We should take off our belts.”
“To prevent anything unfortunate from happening. You know…if we took off our shirts. And. Well, your belt buckle is sharp, isn’t it?”
It’s not, but Blaine likes where this is going. “Right. Yeah. Let’s do that.”
If zippers get opened up and hands come into play, well, that’s just because Kurt really loves Blaine and not at all because he’s trying to distract him. Blaine’s got to believe that, especially at the way Kurt’s skin flushes and how his eyelids are heavy as he holds Blaine close and he mutters something against Blaine’s lips that sounds nothing like love but feels exactly like it.
“Alternate hands—like this with a twist and you don’t have to like swallow all that much, remember to breathe through your noise and be generous with your tongue and you’re golden.”
Blaine wonders if he’s having an aneurism. The fact that Santana is demonstrating on invisible air instead of a prop should be less mortifying and yet, it doesn’t help it all.
“Just play with the head in your mouth.” Santana clarifies. “Come on, this is stuff you need to know for next time. And for all that is holy, do not use your teeth, keep your grill covered with your lips. Save the advanced stuff for later down the road once you’ve become a blowjob master. Trust me on this.”
He whimpers a little but he kind of deserves this.
A shark in the water senses blood, so the slow shedding of his supposed virginity had been picked up by her only with a fleeting glance.
“Handjobs, nice,” she’d said to him in an undertone as they crossed paths in the hallway because Blaine’s banned her from texting him sex advice. His mother had almost seen if u don’t wanna swallow spit in a tissue dribbling isnt hot before he very quickly deleted it because no, he is not going to save that.
He’d told Santana he doesn’t need any further lessons and she’d stared him down until he’d finally broken and said, “Okay, see you during our rehearsal break!” because oh yes, she knew how to work that whole slightly scared-of-her thing.
“You do want Kurt to like what you’ve giving him, right? It’s a gift, and while I don’t believe in the saying it’s better to give than to receive, you don’t want him to ask for a gift receipt ‘cause it sucked. So you better suck dick like you were born to do it.”
It’s so offensive that Blaine’s pretty sure Santana means it as a compliment.
Kurt’s pants are kind of like Transformers—instead of turning into cars they turn into even more complicated zippers and buttons and since they’re just fooling around at their usual pace, just hands over clothes, he really doesn’t want to stop because he scraped his palm trying to get a hold of Kurt’s dick.
Somehow he thinks Kurt might consider that a mood killer. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to hide it that well when he hisses as Kurt buck up into his touch.
“It’s just—um,” he breathes through his teeth because fuck, it still stings, sharp and bright. “Your jeans, Kurt.”
Kurt sits up forcing Blaine to move back against the passenger door as he looks at Blaine’s hand in the dim light. “Oh no. Let’s get the first aid kit.”
Great. Skinning his palm while trying to fondle his boyfriend. This is just spectacular.
She starts spreading her hands apart in slow increments. “So show me what we’re working with.”
“How much experience…?”
“Blaine. If your bow ties are removing air to your brain, take them off. That checkered nightmare is making my eyes bleed. I’m talking about dick, as I have since we started these lessons. I don’t forget hysterical freak outs and when you almost tried to run out of the room when I asked if you’d learned the wonders of lube, your fingers, and you, I figured we’d focus on the easy stuff.”
Blaine doesn’t squeak, so clearly the noise that came from him means he swallowed a toy at some point as a kid and it’s finally making itself heard.
“Um. Kurt’s or?”
“’You know Kurt’s measurements?”
Blaine wisely doesn’t answer but he’s pretty sure his traitor face gives the game away. He can feel his cheeks burning.
Santana doesn’t waste a moment, holding her hands apart until Blaine’s stupid face (he should get a new face at this point) answers the question. Or maybe it’s his eyes that are broken since he’s locked into Santana’s delighted gaze. She makes a surprised noise, it almost sounds happy, when he’s non-verbally given her the answer.
“We might have to bump you into advanced beginner classes. Damn.” Her ponytail goes flying when she shakes her head. “Never knew Hummel could tuck all that in his man-leggings.”
“Kurt doesn’t wear leggings.”
“Relax, Tim Gunn. I’m still dealing with the TMI. The man who wears eye-blistering green suspenders doesn’t get to play fashion consultant.”
Blaine does relax despite the insult to his favorite suspenders, because being compared to Tim Gunn is kind of amazing.
She has him then. “So,” she says sweetly. “Are you…?” She holds out her hands at the same length.
He says crossly (even crossing his arms across his chest for emphasis), “Why does this matter?”
“Oh. Well. I guess it’s okay, maybe he loves you for your, uh, maybe he’s an ass guy. You do got somethin’-somethin’ for a white guy.”
Blaine’s not proud but he can’t help pull her hands in his rough estimate, which he thinks it more than fine, comfortably above average, thanks (he might have muttered that last part out loud). “And I’m half Filipino. For the record.”
“Great, the diversity of New Directions went up by half a member. Mr. Schue will be so excited, maybe he’ll do a diversity week and we’ll get to sing songs not by white men who peaked in the 80s.” She looks down at her hands. “Speaking of members, though, well done. Finn’s—”
“I don’t want to know! He is my boyfriend’s stepbrother, so please; I’ll buy you five Breadstix certificates to never know the end of that sentence.”
Santana finally gives him a break and lets him escape.
Blaine makes a mental note to bring up Breadstix since it makes her eyes glaze over. Honestly, it’s pretty overrated and he doesn’t understand the big deal about it.
Okay, so he can never let her know he thinks that.
“What’s gotten into you?” Kurt asks, breath hot against Blaine's skin before he sucks the bottom lip back into his mouth, teeth scraping gently. He breaks away to confess, “Not that I’m complaining."
“I love how you make me feel.” It’s raw and needy possibly because Blaine’s straining against his zipper and he is trying not to rub up on Kurt’s leg because this’ll be over before it’s barely started.
“Blaine.” It’s not an answer but there’s something so raw in Kurt’s voice that he groans and whatever self-control he’s supposed to have vanishes.
Their teeth click as their kissing gets sloppy, desperately trying to make promises to each other, and Blaine begs, “Come with me.”
“We’ll need to open the throat muscles.”
Pretending this is a singing exercise is the only way Blaine can press his hand against his throat, feeling the flex underneath his fingers. Santana stretches her neck for emphasis, letting out a deep breath through her nose. “See? Your throat tightens but you have to make it happen only when you mean to do it or things can take a bad turn. You’ve got to make it seem good even if it doesn’t feel good.”
“So—lie to Kurt?”
“If you want to admit choking on his dick go ahead. I look forward to his week of mourning outfits after your breakup.”
“We’re not going to breakup just because I can’t—“
“Give head,” she supplies.
“That. I mean, it’s not going to be perfect and I figure we’ll be grading each other on a learning curve.” Blaine suddenly has an image of Kurt holding up a scorecard with a dismally low score.
“I’m sorry, were you hit on the head five seconds ago? Because I’m pretty sure you’re aware that you hooked up with a freaking drama queen. And I am not dealing with yet another breakup before Sectionals. I’m betting Rachel and Finn are headed towards their pre-competition break up yet again.”
Blaine blinks. “They’re really happy together.”
“People in love are such pushovers,” she mutters and she does kind of push him a little, only to sit on top of his desk, invading his personal space with ease. “They’ve got their own sick drama pattern. I guess yours is running around with hearts in your eyes believing in love. Man, when Hummel breaks your heart, it’s gonna suck.”
“Kurt’s not, look, we’re fine, unlike other people, we actually talk about how we feel.”
Being caged with a rhinoceros after poking it with a stick would be less deadly than Santana right now as her nostrils flare and she swipes a hand through her ponytail, perhaps seeking out those razorblades she once swore were kept there.
“Fuck you, Anderson. You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
She’s out of there before Blaine can even say a word.
“I thought if I went in knowing everything, I wouldn’t be so worried,” he says to her on the bleachers, a week later when the guilt finally outweighs his fear of her retribution. It’s the best peace offering he’s got. “It was wrong of me to use you like that.”
“Use me. Guys are obsessed with that. Oh I don’t want to use you. What, so you’ll respect me in the morning?” She laughs bitterly. “You know, what the fuck does it matter, I got to see you squirm and bribe you. I’ll be eating like a queen at Breadstix for the rest of my time in this loser town.”
Blaine takes her acceptance of his apology in stride. “I don’t understand you, Santana.”
“Look, I don’t regret being with,” she shakes her head, “screwing those guys. It was—whatever.” It doesn’t seem like whatever when she’s staring out at the empty field, scowling. “I’m great at it. I take pride in that, okay?”
They’re quiet for a long time and Blaine can’t help it, has to fill the silence with words. “But it’s better when it’s with someone you—”
“Say love and I’ll—”
“When it’s with someone you desire,” Blaine says and the truth has finally broken the surface and if it rattles Santana, it does an even worse number on Blaine. She’s not out.
Santana stares at him, horrified. “Desire? Seriously? That’s even worse. God, romance novels really do rot the brain. What are you, a closet Danielle Steel fan?”
“I’m not in the closet, Santana,” he says, sighing, a little disappointed at the edge in his voice, a tinge of venom that he shouldn’t direct at Santana. He’s irritated at his own obliviousness. “I guess I’ve learned all I need to know. Whatever happens next, I’ll improvise.”
She smacks him hard on the thigh. “Finally! You pass, maybe with a C but the C’s for cum laude.”
“The real lesson about sex. Yeah, maybe going in blind is stupid, but going in with a map and a flashlight is just showing your own ass. The fun is that you get to try, try, and try again.”
“I am so confused right now.”
She grins, knocking her knee against his. “Every penis is a snowflake.”
Blaine tries not to cry because he really doesn’t want to think about that ever because he’s slowly becoming aware how very fond he is of dick and does not want that thought to override his far more pleasant musings about it. But Santana is the very person who might just ruin dick for him.
“I really hope that isn’t true,” he finally says.
“It’s different for everyone, okay? Sex is simple. People aren’t. There. That’s what you need to know. Use it wisely. And Blaine? When you and Kurt do all the nasty things you can think of to each other and you’re still curious, then you can ask me for more handy tricks of the trade. But it’ll cost you.”
“I don’t know what else I can give.”
“See there? That lack of imagination is gonna get you nowhere. Be generous and hey, there’s nothing wrong with asking.” She sees a figure in the distance, Kurt, and then Blaine notices that she totally pickpocketed his cell phone. Santana hands it back, rolling her eyes. “Relax. All I did was text him and ask that he to meet you here.”
“Well, no one’s around and I think you need some TLC. Tender loving cuddles. You are soooo the clingy type. One last tip from me to you, oh my god, Kurt might think he’s into you because of noble reasons, but he only has eyes for your ass. Use it wisely.”
She hops gracefully to her feet and does a bump and grind move as she walks down the steps. “See? It’s that easy.”
Blaine lets himself believe it. When he catches Kurt’s smile, he can certainly believe in anything.