Same boring bar, same boring patrons, same boring broads. Blaine Anderson set his sheet music up for the next audition; their last singer had gotten a case of something awful, and hadn’t made it through the night. She and Blaine weren’t too close. Driscoll’s bar had been open nearly six years, and Blaine’d been their pianist for what felt like ten. Le Jazz Hot. He scoffed as he cracked his knuckles. Yet another one of these girls, thinking they have the range for something; Blaine knew this one’d be falling flat on her face in no time.

“Ready boys?” Blaine asked in a soft tone, as he put his cigarette out in the already over-flowing ashtray on his piano. The band mumbled their replies, and got into place. Blaine listened to the all too familiar intro, and hit his cue perfectly. That’s why he had this job; he was the best pianist in town. He just needed a singer. The spotlight shifted through the place, the lights dimming on the band, and shining straight at their next audition. Blaine’s eyes widened, and he nearly messed up. Nearly.

“’Bout twenty years ago…” It was a man, standing before Blaine’s piano. First they’d ever seen to audition, or sing like that. “…way down in New Orleans…a group of fellas found a new kind of music, and they decided to call it…” The man, who went by the name of Kurt Hummel, approached the piano bench, throwing a wink Blaine’s way. “...Jazz. No other sound has what this music has. Before they knew it, it was whizzin’ ‘round the world-“ He swung his hips, just as well as any other broad might, but better. “The world was ready for a blue kind of music. And now they play it from Steamboat Springs, to Le Paz.”

A guy. A good looking, hip swinging guy was singing better than any other chick that ever made her way into this piss poor place. Blaine tried his best to avoid the singer’s gaze, but was failing miserably. He knew this song too well to keep his eyes on the sheet music. Anderson, pull it together. He swallowed, turning back towards the guy- Kurt Hummel.  There was no doubt in his mind that the guys, his band mates, the only friends he had in this godforsaken world, were going to accept Kurt right off the bat. He was talented, and his voice was feminine enough, so that if you didn’t squint too hard his way, he’d pass for a dame.

Blaine watched as Kurt took advantage of the piano, and made it his own. He hopped up onto it, effortlessly, and crossed his legs, making the long appendages look like a pinwheel. Blaine couldn’t keep his eyes off the guy. He swung his foot the tiniest bit, making the song his bitch. “Oh, baby, won’t you play me Le Jazz Hot, maybe? And don’t ever let it end…” Kurt settled onto his back, arching his spine, as he met Blaine’s eye line. He gave him a bright, bright smile. “I tell ya’, friend, it’s really somethin’ new here. I can’t sit still when there’s that rhythm near me-” He shook his shoulders in time with the beat, throwing another wink Blaine’s way.  He sat up, quickly, for this next bit, jutting his chin out in a sort-of-seductive way that made Blaine glance down at the piano to check his fingers for the first time in God knows how long. “Also, baby, Le Jazz Hot, may be what’s holding my soul together.” Kurt kept his eyes off of Blaine, moving to impress the boss, who sat at the bar. He uncrossed his legs the same way he’d crossed them, and hopped off the piano. “Don’t know whether it’s mornin’ or night­-“ He held the back of his hand against his forehead, as his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Only know it’s sounding right-“ He kept his big, big smile as he snapped in time. “So, come on in, and play me Le Jazz Hot, baby, ‘cause I love my Jazz…hot.” Blaine wouldn’t miss the next part for the world; the guy knew how to dance, too. This was the part the dames usually made fools of themselves, making themselves out to look too loose, and unappealing. Kurt kept it classy, though. Blaine knew he would.

He swung his hips, much more gracefully than Blaine’d seen any girl do, and snapped his fingers around, looking like a real professional. Looking like someone who didn’t belong here- Someone who was too good to be here. Which got Blaine to wondering, what was someone like this Kurt Hummel doing here? He had all the talent to make it big… Then again, Blaine did, too, and he was still here. Taking home maybe fifteen bucks a week at the most in tips, when he could be making the big bucks somewhere, down where he was wanted; needed… What was this Kurt’s story? Judging by the way he moved his body, Blaine was guessing it was something like his own.

Blaine was gay. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was. He’d had girlfriend after girlfriend, and nothing had changed. And he came to the realization that nothing would. He wasn’t going to risk his life over some stupid dream. He’d gotten slammed into pavements before, for checking out a guy’s ass, or staring too long at the gym. Imagine what kind of trouble he’d get in around talent like Kurt Hummel over in LA. It wasn’t worth it. Fifteen bucks a week was better than missing teeth and black eyes, in Blaine’s opinion.

“Before they knew it, it was whizzin’ ‘round the world-“ Kurt leaned his elbows on the piano, sticking his backside in the air and shaking it the slightest bit- Not too much to look like a fool, but just the right amount where a guy might just do a double take. Blaine certainly did. “The world was ready for a blue kind of music- And now they play it from Steamboat Springs to La Paz!” He hopped back up onto the piano, looking like he was born to be there, and re-crossed his legs. “When you play me La Jazz Hot, baby, you’re holding my soul together…” Again, Kurt threw a wink Blaine’s way, leaning down so that his chest was touching the piano, and Blaine could see how blue his eyes were. “Don’t know whether it’s morning or night; only know it’s sounding right! So come on in, and play me La Jazz Hot, baby, ‘cause I love my Jazz hot!” Kurt turned over so that he was on his back again, his eyes on the ceiling as he held out the note. Blaine had no doubt in his mind that Kurt would miss this last note. He was perfect, and he saw the boss approving paperwork out of the corner of his eye. Kurt Hummel was Blaine’s new partner- singing partner. “La Jazz Hot…” As he held out the last note perfectly, Kurt Hummel slowly sat up, his hand trailing up his thigh. Blaine’s eyes were glued on that hand, and again, he nearly messed up. Nearly. The music halted as Kurt spoke the last three words, then the lights went out for a split second as the last note played. He heard Kurt jump off the piano, and Blaine was up, gathering his sheet music, with a million questions for this guy running through his head.

The lights switched back on, and he saw the boss shaking Kurt’s hand, and giving him a little nod. Kurt pulled out a cigarette and smiled at the large man. Kurt had known all along he was going to get this. The audition was just a way for him to show off. Blaine adjusted the fedora on his head, and fumbled for a moment, to find his lighter.  He shoved his sheet music and three dollars in tips into his briefcase, and stayed hot on Kurt’s trail. The new guy found his dressing room immediately, and Blaine watched as he tapped his slender fingertips against the flaking gold star on the door.

“’Scuze me,” Blaine cleared his throat, attempting a smile, and holding up the lighter. Kurt’s eyebrow rose, and he smirked at the pianist, accepting his light.

“That was some playin’ out there,“ He puffed on the cigarette, the air around the two of them already becoming hazy with smoke.

“And that was some singin’,” Blaine cocked his head to the side as he shoved the lighter back into his pocket. There were too many questions to just ask one, so he just continued to smile at him.

“I thought so, too,” Kurt pursing his lips the slightest bit as he shrugged. He walked like a voluptuous broad, swinging his hips from side to side slowly, and Blaine had no choice but to stare. Kurt glanced back at him before taking a seat in front of the mirror. “I think I might like it here.”

“I think so, too…” Blaine’s jaw was slack, and he already knew he was making a bad first impression. “What are you doing here?” Wrong, Anderson, all wrong. He cleared his throat and slipped inside the dressing room, finally. “I mean ta’ say, what’s your story? You got pipes like no other guy I’ve heard.”

“Yeah? And I heard you got magic fingers. What are you doin’ here?” Kurt challenged with a wider smirk, his legs crossing again. This time, it was slow, more purposeful. If Blaine didn’t know any better, he might’ve thought he was teasing him.

“I got…my mother to take care of.” Blaine watched as Kurt rolled his eyes, which was followed by a low scoff.

“We’ve all got our mothers, and brothers, and sisters holdin’ us back- In fact, I’ve got a few brothers holdin’ me back, if you know what I mean.” He took another drag off his cigarette, and let the smoke out to the ceiling.

“I’m not sure I do, no.”

“You’ll get it, honey. You’re smart enough. Smart enough to know not to ask me what I’m doin’ here again.” Kurt slowly stood again, and approached Blaine, looking at him from under his eyelashes in that way that broads do before they’re about to kiss you or kill you. Blaine’s first instinct was to lean in, and connect their lips, but he played it safe, and backed toward the door. Kurt followed, his eyebrow raising again. “’Cause we both know we got the same reason.”

“We do?” Blaine’s eyebrows rose as he fumbled for the doorknob behind him. He shouldn’t have said anything; he shouldn’t have said a word. Kurt knew his secret now, and Blaine knew his.

“We do, sugar. I’ll see you tomorrow night, won’t I?” Kurt made a very slow kissy-face at Blaine, that made the latter’s heart race like it never did before. Not unless he was looking at one of those magazines that those dames bought.

“Sure will,” Blaine finally got the door open, and slipped out into the hall. Blaine had gotten a few answers, but not enough. He did know one thing, though, and it scared him to death; Kurt Hummel was talented and fierce. Kurt Hummel was trouble.