Rating: R, for language
Pairings: Kurt/Blaine
Spoilers (if any): Takes place before Prom Queen.
Warnings (if any): This is un-betated. And there are a few slurs in here. Non-con as well, but nothing overtly graphic.
Word Count: 930
Summary: Kurt finds himself in an unsavory situation and Blaine sees red.
A/N: This is in response to kagedtiger 's kagedtiger(dot)livejournal(dot) (A Slight Slip of Control) challenge. I also based the event in this off another fic I read a long while ago and for the life of me can't find again. So yes. Here this is. And please excuse any errors in grammar and tense, my beta went to bed before this was finished. If you want to keep up with me, follow me on tumblr! :D Let me know what you think!

In the Stairwell

Kurt doesn't know how he got there, doesn't quite remember the sequence of events leading up to him being pressed against the wall in the stairwell. He's a little too focused on trying to keep Kyle Andrews' hands from roaming. He was wearing a skirt again, trying to gage Blaine's reaction to the idea so he's not totally shocked come Prom, even if his boyfriend hasn't asked him yet.

"Fuck, Hummel, stop fucking squirming. You're asking for this, wearing shit like that," Andrews muttered as pushed himself against Kurt.

Kurt didn't know what the baseball player was talking about, he'd worn this skirt in the fall and the blond jock didn't say a word to him about it. He got the usual taunts, but nothing this…this sexually charged. Not even Karofsky mentioned anything about it, other than he looked like a girl. Nothing out of the ordinary for him on a day he was just wearing his skinnies. But this, this was new and frightening.

Suddenly, Andrews had pinned his arms awkwardly above his head with one of his own arms. The other began wandering up his thigh, nearing the hem of the skirt.

"Too bad you're wearing the tights, Hummel," Andrews grunted.

"What?" Kurt squeaked, wondering how many closeted and sexually aggressive jocks there were in this school.

"I'm not a fag, Hummel," Andrews muttered, his breath ghosting across Kurt's neck. "Amber broke up with me, and you know what they say, a hole is a hole. And you fags don't care as long as you get something, anything."

"No," Kurt forced out, his voice firm. "Get off!"

"Get over yourself, Hummel," Andrews hissed, his hand sliding from the outside to the inside of the shorter boy's thigh. "Fuck, Hummel, your legs."

Kurt tried struggling again, and even though Andrews was only a little taller than him, he was pretty built. If Kurt didn't know what sort of douche bag he was, he'd be attractive. Then Andrews pressed forward, halting Kurt's struggles, placing one hand low and hard on his hip. Kurt never thought of himself being…he didn't want to finish that thought. He had not fallen into an episode of Law and Order: SVU, this wasn't going to happen. He was supposed to be meeting Blaine for their Thursday night date, going to a fancy French restaurant before heading to the next town over for a local production of 'My Fair Lady.' He wasn't supposed to be trapped in a stairwell with a sex-depraved jock.

"You're gonna fucking love this, Hummel," he hissed, his hand finding the hem of his black jeggings.

"No! Get off of me! Let me go!" Kurt shouted, his voice rising a few octaves as he became more hysterical.

"Shut up," Andrews hissed, finally getting angry. He took a step back and pulled his arm back, hand in the shape of a fist.

Kurt closed his eyes tightly, he knew what was coming, expected it. He'd been waiting for the jocks to hit him ever since he dared Azimio and Karofsky to do it during Gaga week.

But it never came. Hesitantly, Kurt opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. Standing behind Andrews was Blaine. Blaine. His boyfriend was gripping the blonde's wrist firmly in his hand, face twisted in fury. It didn't seem to matter that he was at least two or three inches shorter than the jock, his rage seemed to be making up for that. And then Kyle Andrews was on the ground and Blaine was kicking him in the side. Kurt could barely make out what he was saying, catching little snatches here and there. Swear words, his name came up every so often, and words like 'never' 'my' and 'boyfriend' but Kurt couldn't be sure. He was still in shock. His normally levelheaded, dapper, generally non-confrontational boyfriend was kicking the shit out of someone. Finally, he came back to himself.

"Blaine!" Kurt's voice was hoarse as he tentatively grabbed his boyfriend's arm. "Blaine!"

Kurt started as Blaine turned suddenly, grabbing his arms and jerking him close. Kurt pressed his face in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, watching as Andrews scrambled to his feet and ran down the stairs, his nose bleeding profusely.

"God, Kurt, when you didn't answer my texts, and then I heard yelling, and I saw him touching you. I just…and then he was going to hit you. God. I just lost control."

Kurt took a deep, shuddering breath and wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders, he didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to react to this new side of his boyfriend.

"I'm sorry," Blaine murmured into his ear. "I'd never, God, Kurt, I'd never hurt you."

"I know," Kurt murmured, lifting his head and resting it against Blaine's. They stood like that for a few long moments, just staring at each other. When they pulled away, Blaine smiled tentatively at him before grabbing his hand.

"Come on, we've got dinner reservations," he said quietly. He suddenly frowned and straightened out the skirt from where it had gotten caught in the waist of his leggings. He smiled again, "Better."

"Sh-should I change?" Kurt asked, ducking his head.

"Why? You look really, really hot in this," Blaine replied as he tugged Kurt away from the wall.

"Really?" Kurt asked, just a little surprised.

"Yeah, now, come on. I'm starved," Blaine replied as they made their way down the stairs.

Kurt let a small smile spread across his face and leaned into his boyfriend a bit. Even though Blaine's outburst had really scared and shocked him. It didn't make him like, or love, him any less.