Blaine Anderson thought of himself as a gentleman. He treated people with respect, did his best to display perfect manners at all times, and was never crude. It wasn't hard; he'd been raised that way. It helped that he tended not to give into the usual social failings of teenage boys: he rarely lost his temper, had a pretty good brain-to-mouth filter that prevented most of the worst possible foot-in-mouth moments, and he wasn't ruled by his hormones. Kurt Hummel managed to make him give in to all three just by getting dirty.
Blaine thought he knew Kurt pretty well. He knew about Kurt's disastrous crush on Finn, about him throwing the high F in Defying Gravity, about how probably half the clothes in Kurt's wardrobe were from the Female collection of whatever designer's work. Kurt knew a lot about him too. He knew about Blaine's obsession with all things Katy Perry and Harry Potter, about his rivalry with his older brother Tate, about the time Blaine had fallen whilst on stage at a Warbler concert and still managed to finish the song with gusto - and a broken ankle. In the nearly four months the two boys had known one another they'd become best friends... and nothing more, despite their heavy flirting and Kurt's frequent, less-than-subtle hints.
Blaine liked Kurt, he really did, but he had a very solid idea in mind that made his feelings purely platonic; Kurt and sex would not mix. It felt wrong to make their relationship sexual or even romantic if he couldn't even picture Kurt with a hair out of place, let alone fantasise about him sweaty and sated. Ever since that first coffee, with Kurt's gorgeous eyes welling up with tears and still not sullying his porcelain facade at all, Blaine couldn't help but think of Kurt as a kind of untouchably clean, immaculate prince; forever put together, pristine and pure. Thinking about Kurt in the context of sex just seemed weird and... unlikely. The older boy knew that Kurt was beautiful; pale, smooth skin, long, elegant limbs, those amazing eyes... but sexual? No; sex was dirty and Kurt was clean, and Blaine was totally convinced that he would never be able to bring himself to think about Kurt in a non-platonic way - or at least, in a sexual way. He'd thought about what it would be like to date Kurt, about long dinners and hand holding and sweet kisses shared in private and public alike. His thoughts about Kurt weren't always purely friendship related, but he didn't really think Kurt needed a boyfriend right now; he needed a friend, someone to relate to who wouldn't put any pressure on him. Blaine could do that. As much as he liked Kurt, as warm it made him feel inside when he thought about dancing with him in candlelight, he was more than happy to be the friend for as long as Kurt needed him. It was actually fairly easy. They got along great, and Kurt was an amazing guy. They shared anything and everything. Blaine didn't think that anything about Kurt could surprise him anymore; not since Kurt had come out of his house before they'd gone to a movie in what at first glance looked like a dress and heels (though Kurt insisted it was a tunic with leggings. He didn't deny that those boots were heeled, though).
Both those particular assumptions were most spectacularly shattered one strangely sunny afternoon in February, when Blaine went to pick Kurt up for their usual weekend coffee 'date' from his dad's garage.
Blaine did know that Kurt worked there sometimes, but for some reason he'd always assumed that he was working the front desk or making coffee or something. He did not expect to hear Kurt's voice drift towards him from under the hood of a shiny car when he wandered into the garage.
"Be with you in just a sec, please feel free to take a seat!" that familiar voice chirped, and Blaine did a double take. He slowly made his way around to the front of the car, sure he'd see Kurt standing next to the actual mechanic looking prim as always, maybe with a clipboard or something. Instead, he saw his assumptions take a flying leap out the nearest window at the sight of Kurt bending over the engine in grease covered overalls, muscles in his arm working as he manipulated an enormous wrench Blaine wasn't sure he would be able to lift, black oil smudged on his forearms and across his face, looking as content and relaxed as Blaine had ever seen him. He glanced up when he saw movement from the corner of his eye, and his face lit up in a smile at the sight of his friend.
