klainebunnies
May. 15th, 2011 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rockinhamburgerOkay, so, over the course of the last several months I've been focused intently on school. But I can't stop the Glee bunnies from hopping in once in a while, and because I haven't posted much lately, I wanted to share some of the bits and pieces of what I've been working on and thinking about on the sidelines when I wasn't hunched over my desk in an effort to memorize sociological theories and the etiologies of autism, cerebral palsy and Rett Syndrome.
So here you have five unrelated stories that are either works-in-progress, stories that didn't make it to fruition, and an extra scene from a previous story of mine. All except one are Klaine-related, and the odd man out is a Kurt-Burt scene. They range from G to NC-17.
I hope they're somewhat interesting to you, and please let me know what you think of them.
01. Dinner With The Andersons, G, slightly angsty. Could have been a lengthy story, but I got stuck.
They were cleaning up after dinner, Kurt washing and Blaine drying the dishes, when Kurt suddenly spoke over the clink of glass and splash of water.
“I want to meet your parents.”
“What? Why?”
“Why not?” Kurt said calmly, turning his head to look directly at Blaine. “They should know who their son is dating.”
“Kurt, have you listened to anything I’ve said about my parents at all? They’re— they’re clueless about this stuff because they don’t even want to bother getting a clue. It’d be so uncomfortable. I’d be uncomfortable.”
“But that’s how it should be,” Kurt said insistently. “Meeting the parents is always uncomfortable, whatever the reason. And--Blaine, I’m serious about us, and I want them to see that.”
Blaine strode over and kissed Kurt. “You’re sweet. But it would be way too weird.”
Kurt shrugged in a way that managed to look graceful. “Okay. Think about it, though.”
He went right back to his washing, like he hadn’t just planted a virus-thought in his boyfriend’s brain. Blaine could not stop himself from picturing variations on how a meeting between Kurt and his parents might go down as he dried every dish, trying to ignore the little voice that was telling him to agree to Kurt’s suggestion.
-
When he got home, Blaine found his father sitting in his home office with the door half-closed. He rapped sharply on the wood with his knuckles. “Dad?”
His father looked up from the papers he had spread out over his desk. “Yes, Blaine? How can I help you?” he asked, formal as ever.
Blaine opened the door the whole way and took a few steps inside, folding his hands behind his back to fool his body into thinking this was going to be a casual, everyday conversation. He breathed in deeply before announcing, formally, “I’d like to invite Kurt over on Friday evening, to join us for dinner.”
His father did not mask his surprise and discomfort quickly enough, but he was soon wearing an expression of extreme neutrality. “Well,” he said, but he didn’t continue right away, looking down at his desk. “I--that is, I’m not sure your mother has appropriately planned dinner for an extra person, and--well, I wouldn’t want to meddle in her plans. Perhaps another time?”
A thrill of anger that ran through Blaine. He could not believe his dad was using such an obviously false excuse for why he didn’t want Kurt coming over. Blaine kept his voice steady as he spoke.
“I see,” he said softly. “You’re saying Mom couldn’t possibly make enough food to accommodate for another dinner guest? A guest whom, I might add, is extremely important to me and should therefore be at least marginally important to you?”
Blaine had never, ever talked back to his father or stood up for himself like this. The novelty seemed to have registered for his father as well, if his shocked eyes had anything to say about it.
It was oddly invigorating.
“Blaine, I don’t think--” his dad started, flustered, but Blaine held up one hand, cutting him off wordlessly. He shook his head curtly.
“I wasn’t asking,” Blaine said firmly, “I was telling. Kurt is coming over on Friday, and that’s that. End of discussion.” Then he nodded decisively and said, brightly, “He’ll be here at 6:30.”
And he left, closing the door behind him.
-
Over the next three days, Blaine shamelessly enjoyed every indication that his parents were freaking out over having to meet Kurt. His mom cleared her throat compulsively and cleaned the entire house from top to bottom; his dad closed himself in his office and only left it out of absolute necessity. The night before the big event, Blaine’s mother kept coming into his room to ask questions.
“Does he have any allergies? Are there any foods he doesn’t like? What sort of meal is he expecting? Does he have any dietary restrictions?”
Blaine answered the questions easily, masking his bafflement at how blatantly nervous she was. He had expected discomfort from his parents, to be sure, but this frenzied anxiety was something Blaine had rarely seen in his mother before.
When she came into his room without knocking, and asked, borderline hysterical, “Will Kurt be offended by the cross in the entrance way?” Blaine decided enough was enough.
“Mom,” he said softly. “Why are you freaking out about this?”
She fidgeted uncomfortably on the spot. “I just--I want to make a good impression, Blaine.”
Blaine waited for further explanation, but none was forthcoming. He was thrown by his mother’s words because they seemed to imply that Kurt was someone she needed to make a good impression for, and that was as soothing as it was unexpected.
Blaine gave her a reassuring smile. “He won’t be offended by the cross. Or anything else in the house, for that matter. Kurt’s easygoing. He’s high-maintenance sometimes,” all the time he thought fondly, “but he will love the house, and your food, and he will be extremely polite and kind. I promise.”
She nodded jerkily and turned to leave, but Blaine thought he might have seen just the tiniest flicker of a smile on her face.
-
Twenty minutes before Kurt was set to arrive, his dad found Blaine sitting in the living room, where he’d been reading the same sentence over and over in his chemistry textbook and trying not to obsess about dinner.
“Blaine,” he said once he'd sat down. Blaine looked over, somehow nervous but forcing himself to make eye-contact. He inclined his head inquisitively, and Blaine’s dad sighed.
“Your mother and I don’t know anything about your... boyfriend,” Blaine raised an eyebrow; at least he managed to say the word, even if he did stumble over it. “We don’t know what his hobbies or interests are. We don’t know what he’s like.”
Blaine responded carefully. “Well, he’ll be here any minute now, so you can ask about his hobbies and interests then. Good conversation starters, you know? He’ll be happy to tell you.”
His dad looked away then back again. “Is--is there anything we should know?”
“About what?” Blaine asked.
“About Kurt,” he said, and he looked so uncertain that Blaine couldn't help but smile.
“Stop worrying. Kurt’s great. You’ll get along fine,” he said cheerfully, and he clasped his dad on the shoulder. He pretended to go back to his reading, watching out of his peripheral vision as his dad stayed exactly where he was for three whole seconds before getting to his feet and leaving the room.
Strictly speaking, Blaine was not a vengeful person. But this was admittedly fun payback for many years of his own uncertain anxiety.
The doorbell rang at 6:30 on the dot. Blaine closed his book and strolled to the front door, glancing into the dining room where his parents were sitting at the table, exchanging a vaguely panicked look. He stopped. “Aren’t you going to meet him at the door?” Blaine asked casually. They stood up and started forward, and Blaine continued to the door, letting them trail him.
Kurt was smiling when Blaine opened the door. He wa wearing a red button-down shirt and black pants; in fact, it was close to the outfit he'd worn to Rachel’s party (ugh; where Blaine got totally wasted and made very, very bad decisions), but without the leather strap. Blaine almost wished Kurt had worn the leather strap, just for his parents’ expressions which would no doubt be comedy gold.
“Hi! That tree on your lawn must be a hundred years old!” Kurt remarked excitedly. “It’s gorgeous!”
Blaine grinned at Kurt and beckoned him inside. “A hundred and thirty, actually. Totally gorgeous, but not so good for climbing,” he said, pulling Kurt into a hug. “And hi! How was your drive over?”
“Fine,” said Kurt. “Your directions were excellent.”
“Good.” Blaine shut the door behind Kurt, took a deep breath and turned to find his parents standing very close together a few paces away. He smiled. “Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Kurt. Kurt, that’s my mom--”
Kurt advanced with his hand held out for her to take. She fumbled to shake it, but Kurt grabbed her hand up and actually planted a kiss on the back of her hand. Blaine stared.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs Anderson,” Kurt greeted.
“Leslie’s fine,” she said softly, looking like she’d been hit in the face.
“Beautiful name,” he said succinctly, nodding, "I have a cousin named Leslie." He turned to Blaine’s dad. “Sir,” he said, holding his hand out to him now. “Pleasure to meet you.”
His father grasped Kurt’s hand and shook it once. “You too,” he mumbled.
“Thank you so much for inviting me,” Kurt said warmly, taking a step back looking at them both in turn.
“Of course, the pleasure’s ours,” Blaine’s mom said quickly. "Dinner will be ready any moment. Please make yourself comfortable!"
The words were just this side of manic. Blaine resisted the urge to laugh, and palmed the small of Kurt's back. "Do you want anything to drink with your dinner, Kurt?"
Kurt looked at Blaine through his eyelashes. "Yes, please. Water's fine."
"Excellent! It won’t be a few minutes!” Blaine's mom said, and she hurried into the kitchen, leaving an awkward silence behind.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Blaine suggested, gesturing to the living room. He guided Kurt inside in, and they sat down on the couch. Blaine’s dad hovered on his feet for a few moments before perching in the nearby chair.
“So, Mr Anderson, Blaine tells me you’re a Buckeyes fan?” Kurt began conversationally. “I have to admit I have limited knowledge on the subject, but my dad never misses a game.”
Blaine’s father glanced at Blaine, who raised his eyebrows.
“Oh?” he replied. “That’s--that's good. State football’s always more impressive than professional.”
Kurt smiled. “Precisely what my dad says.”
“And what does your dad do?” he asked, then added, “For a living, that is.”
“He owns and operates an auto-repair shop in Lima,” Kurt answered. "Hummel Tire & Lube."
Blaine's dad finally looked interested, instead of uncomfortable. "Oh, he's an entrepreneur?"
Kurt chuckled. "I am absolutely certain he would never use that word to describe himself, but for the purposes of our discussion, yes, he is."
"And it's a successful business?" Blaine's father inquired.
Blaine twitched where he was sitting.
"Very successful," Kurt replied perfunctorily. "And what do you do for a living, Sir?"
"You don't have to call me sir. James is perfectly fine."
"James, then," Kurt said with a winning smile.
Oh man, Blaine thought, Kurt was charming the pants off his dad. Which was an awkward, disgusting mental image. Ew times infinity.
"I'm a business manager, as a matter of fact," his dad said. "I currently manage several small businesses here in Ohio, and a larger, more lucrative business in New York State."
"New York?" Kurt echoed enthusiastically. "That's fantastic! New York's been my go-to city post-graduation ever since I saw The Way We Were when I was six."
Blaine suddenly felt his stomach sink horribly. He was planning on San Francisco after graduation.
"New York is a beautiful city," Blaine's father said with an affirming nod. "What do you plan on doing after graduation?"
Blaine could barely focus Kurt's answer with the way he was panicking.
"Well, I'm applying to every school in the State, and a few in some other cities, too, just to cover all my bases." Kurt winked, actually winked, "And that is the only sports metaphor you will ever hear me use."
Blaine's father actually laughed. "Well, it's a very wise course of action. You want as many options as possible, of course. You graduate next year?" On Kurt's nod, he asked, "Have you started your applications yet?"
"Of course I have!" Kurt said, looking startled at the question. "I started those in junior high school."
Blaine whipped his head around to stare at Kurt. "Since junior high?" he croaked.
Kurt gave Blaine his patented judging you look. "I have to get into every school I apply to. That's not going to happen if I haven't made my applications pitch-perfect, Blaine."
"Well, yeah," said Blaine weakly, "but junior high?"
Kurt glanced at Blaine's dad for a brief moment, then said, carefully, "I've been wanting to get out of Ohio for a very long time."
Blaine swallowed thickly. This was one of those things that Blaine only peripherally understood. He and Kurt had talked before about the ways in which they differed, and their discussion about passing for straight (or, in Kurt's case, being unable to do so) had nearly culminated in an argument. Blaine could pass; Kurt couldn't, and people throughout Kurt's life had been showing the ways in which he was different from everyone else for a very long time.
He couldn't quite manage responding words to Kurt, and thankfully Blaine's mother announced that dinner was ready, rescuing Blaine from the speechless moment.
They made their way to the dining room. As they worked through dinner, Kurt kept up attentive conversation with Blaine's parents. Blaine contributed occasionally, but he felt strangely morose all the way through.
Kurt wanted to go to New York. Kurt was a set-in-his-ways kind of guy, and Blaine had the terrible feeling that if he ever posited the decision to Kurt between himself and New York (not that he ever would, but god, the desire was there), he would lose in a heartbeat.
The conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but Blaine would not be delivering any sort of ultimatum. It scared him how much he was already reconsidering his post-graduation plans to accommodate for Kurt; to know in his heart that Kurt would not be making those reconsiderations regarding Blaine.
When Kurt thought of his future, was Blaine there?
It couldn't be remotely healthy, but Blaine would put off the conversation for as long as possible, because he couldn't stand knowing for sure on the off chance he didn't feature in Kurt's future plans.
He would watch Kurt cut his chicken into delicate squares, watch him dazzle his parents with his every word, and revel in the squeeze of his heart at those sights instead.
~*~
02. Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way, a deleted scene from the future!married!Klaine 'verse, PG-13 for homophobic language. Stars Kurt and Blaine's daughter, Olivia. I wrote this months ago and completely forgot about it, but I like it a lot and wanted to share it with those of you who enjoyed this 'verse.
The irony of the project Olivia’s assigned for her ethics class does not escape her.
Adoption.
Olivia’s paired with a girl from her class who is a tad ignorant. She shows this ignorance only five seconds into the class time provided by stating, “I don’t know anyone who’s adopted!”
“Well, I know a thing or two about adoption,” Olivia says, trying to smile in a friendly sort of way instead of snapping, as she'd like to, that Lane can't possibly know for sure if she knows anyone who's adopted.
It turns out, though, that Lane isn’t a tad ignorant, but extremely so.
-
“If my parents weren’t renovating we could totally work on the project at my house,” Lane has said by way of explanation.
“It’s fine,” Olivia assures her. “We can work at my house. My parents won’t mind.”
And so, they make small talk on the bus ride home and short walk from the stop to her house. Lane has the unfortunate personality trait of sharing too much about herself for the limited amount of time they've actively known each other. Within the space of half an hour, Olivia learns her relationships status, what she had for breakfast, and that Lane has four little brothers, goes to church every Sunday, and is a PK--"Pastor's Kid. That's the lingo in church circles."
Olivia mostly nods along as Lane prattles on about her life, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she leads Lane up the front path to her house.
“Wow! Your house is beautiful!” Lane says.
“Thanks,” Olivia replied as she unlocks and opens the door. She holds it open for Lane and calls out a vague greeting in case someone’s home.
Dad is. “Hi!” he calls from the dining room. “How was your day?”
She enters the room and takes in the familiar sight of him grading tests at the table, with what’s probably his tenth cup of coffee of the day, his curly hair in disarray from running his hands through it.
She smiles. “It was fine. How was yours?”
“Also fine,” he says with a smile, putting down his pen and draining his coffee mug before setting it aside on the table.
Belatedly, she remembers Lane, who Dad blinks up at when she appears at Olivia’s side.
“Oh, Dad, this is Lane. We’re working on a project together for my ethics class. Lane, this is my dad.”
Her father stands up and crosses the room to shake Lane’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Lane.”
“You too, Mr Anderson,” she says.
“We’ll be upstairs,” Olivia tells him, and he wishes them luck as they make their way upstairs.
They get started on their work, but Lane’s sort of difficult to keep on task; she gets distracted easily, which doesn’t bode well for the weeks of work ahead of them. After a few hours of very slow work, with Olivia writing down everything she knows about adoption, which is a lot, her dad calls up the stairs, “Is Lane staying for dinner?”
Olivia looks up at Lane, willing her to say no.
“Sure!” Lane calls. “Thank you!”
Olivia knows the exact moment her daddy walks through the front door because he’s singing as he enters the house:
"Another winter day
Has come and gone away
And even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home!”
And, embarrassingly, her dad sings back from the kitchen, “Let me go hooooooome!”
“Wow,” Lane says, turning her head toward the sound.
“Yeah, that happens a lot,” Olivia says dryly. “You get used to it.”
“Cool!” says Lane. “No one sings at my house.”
“Lucky you,” Olivia jokes.
There are hushed voices downstairs, her parents exchanging hellos and how are yous, like they do every single day of their lives. Olivia will never understand how they don’t get completely bored of it, but in a day and age when most couples break it off, she's secretly so glad her parents are still desperately in love.
Then she hears footsteps on the stairs, and her daddy appears at the door, looking windswept from the cold outside. “Hi sweetie!” he trills.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Lane freezes in her act of writing and whips her head around.
“Hi, there,” he says, smiling kindly at her.
Lane doesn’t say a word; she just stares at him, taking in the designer clothes and immaculate hair, a look of dawning comprehension and then sudden discomfort taking over her features.
Her father’s kind smile softens, and he looks at Olivia with his eyebrows raised. “Dinner should be ready any minute now, so come on downstairs when you’re ready.”
She tries to communicate her apologies to him without speaking. “Thanks,” she says awkwardly, before bending back over her notebook.
He goes back downstairs, and there's more hushed conversation with the occasional shout of laughter. The uncomfortable silence left in her daddy's wake is palpable. She tries to focus for a few more minutes, wishing fervently that Lane would just leave already; if she has such a problem with her family, no one’s forcing her to stay.
Her dads are setting the table when they trek into the dining room a few minutes later. Olivia hurries to help them, just to have something to do, and after a few minutes they’re sitting down to a supper of pasta and salad.
“Soooo,” says Daddy, as they’re passing serving dishes around and helping themselves, “Today I finished the dress Emma Stone’s wearing to the Golden Globes.”
Olivia forgets all about her former discomfort at this news. “What!?” she shrieks. “UM, pictures!?”
“Of course!" Daddy beams, "They’re on my phone, I’ll show you later. So, what was your day like, now that I’ve set the bar so sigh?”
“It was okay," she says, and she smirks. “Lane and I are working on a project for my ethics class, and you will never guess what subject we were given.”
“Oooh,” Dad interjects, “I’ll take that challenge. The environment.”
“Not even close,” Olivia laughs.
Daddy jumps in with, “Affirmative action?”
“Nope.”
“Gambling?”
“Prostitution?”
“Um, we have company?” Olivia says, flushing but giggling anyway. “And no to both. You won’t guess. Adoption. Of all the freaking topics!” They laugh along with Olivia.
Lane stops eating to ask, rather abruptly, “How did you adopt Olivia? Did you use a surrogate mother?”
Olivia’s mouth drops open. She seriously just went for it, with no hesitation, just outright asked.
Her parents look similarly surprised at Lane’s forwardness.
“Uh,” says her dad.
“Well,” says her daddy.
“No surrogate. It was a closed adoption,” says Olivia, shoulders tensing.
“Oh.” Lane eats a lettuce leaf, looking curious but apparently uncertain if she should continue asking questions.
Olivia’s grateful she doesn’t. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure we’ll be getting an ‘A’ on that paper.”
Daddy chuckles, “As usual!”
“Do you ever wonder about your mom?” Lane asks suddenly.
The silence that rings out around the table is actually painful. Olivia puts her fork down with trembling fingers and turns her head toward Lane. “No," she says shakily. "These are my parents.”
Lane’s starting to look upset, which Olivia’s had plenty of experience with. A few of Olivia’s childhood friends initially had trouble understanding life without a mother, but the difference is that they were all under the age of ten when they struggled through that.
“But,” starts Lane, as if she can’t help herself, and Olivia closes her eyes against a flood of frustration and anger and the urge to shout, ‘shut up!’ “But who do you talk to about girl stuff? You know, all the stuff moms talk about. Don’t you ever wonder what it’s like to have a mother?”
The silence this time is even worse. She can’t even look at her dads right now. “No,” she says firmly, trying to keep her voice even. She picks up her fork. “How was work, Dad?”
Dad starts, probably at being addressed so out-of-the-blue, but he gets it, because he’s amazing and perfect. “Like any other day,” he says, shrugging. “I watched my students take their math quizzes.”
Lane remains silent for the rest of the meal, frowning down at her food while Olivia shoots her fathers expressions of exasperation and irritation, and they shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it really, really is.
As soon as dinner’s finished, her parents loading the dishwasher in the kitchen, Olivia stands up and walks to the front door. She opens it pointedly. Lane approaches slowly, open confusion on her face.
“Time for you to go,” Olivia says flatly.
Lane looks blindsided. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But--the project--"
“I’ll send you the essay when I’m finished. We’ll do it in class and over email, but I don’t want you in my house.”
Lane stares at her in disbelief for a few moments, and then she scowls and starts forcing her feet into her boots. “I don’t know what your problem is,” she says, pulling her jacket on with jerky movements.
Olivia scowls back. “Well, it’s only a matter of time before you say something really insulting, so I’m cutting you off before you have the chance. You think I don’t know what that silence was about upstairs? What you’re getting at with those bullshit questions? You’re obviously uncomfortable, and so am I, so what’s the point in pretending?”
“Whatever,” Lane snaps. “It’s not my fault you didn’t warn me beforehand.”
“There is nothing about my life that requires a warning,” Olivia snaps back, shaking with suppressed anger. “I don’t owe you any explanations whatsoever. I don’t want your ignorance in my house. My parents are amazing, and I won’t have anyone implying otherwise.”
“It’s just weird,” Lane says suddenly. “All I was saying is that it must be weird. I just think you’re missing out on all the things you can get from having a mother.”
“Oh my god! You are so ridiculous,” Olivia shouts. “It’s not weird because this is all I know. Do you question the way your family works? No! I don't, either, because I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now please leave already. And don’t let the door hit you your ignorant ass on the way out.”
“It’s not ignorance,” Lane mumbles, “It's the truth. Kids should have a father and a mother.”
Olivia lets go of her grasp on the wood of the door to slam her hand back down onto it as hard as she can. “Get the fuck out of my house right now!”
Lane literally runs out.
Olivia slams the door behind her. The sound is like harsh reality crashing down, and she heaves an angry sob. This is exactly the kind of bullshit her dads have had to deal with their entire lives! Maybe the country’s become more progressive since they were her age, but there are still ignorant assholes out there, and--and--
She’s starting to hyperventilate. With another sob, she turns and runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She stomps into her bedroom and bangs the door shut.
She can’t remember the last time she felt this angry. She's shaking from it.
Catching a glimpse of the notebooks they were working out of just an hour ago, she throws them in turn against her window and then throws herself down on to her bed. She sobs into her pillow, screaming into the soft material and clenching her fists in her comforter.
Fucking bitch!
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on her door. She turns her head to the side to snap out, “I’m fine.”
Daddy opens the door. “Uh huh. I was just knocking to be polite.” He sits down on the side of her bed, and when she meets his gaze it’s a weary and tired one.
“Daddy, I’m so sorry for bringing her over here,” she sobs, tears starting up again. “I had no idea she was – that she was like that!”
He places a warm hand on her back, rubbing circles there. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he says gently. “And please don’t cry. Your father and I have heard far worse than that. She’s just young, and probably parroting the prejudice her parents have been teaching her.”
“But that’s the point!” she cries, sitting up. “You’ve heard worse. You’ve heard crap like that your whole lives, and I do not want someone, no matter how young and small-minded she is, coming in here and reminding you of all that. When I hear that stuff? When someone in the hallway says the ‘f’ word like it isn’t offensive, I just--I want to scream, because this is my world, my space, just as much as theirs, and they’re tainting it with their ugly words! All you and dad have ever done was love each other, and love me, and, what? People like Lane think there’s something wrong with that? It’s just such bullshit!”
“You’re absolutely right; it’s bullshit,” Daddy says, nodding. “And that’s all it is. If you, and your dad, and I know that, then what do their opinions matter? We can’t let their bullshit affect us. If we do, we’re just giving them what they want. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather show you Emma Stone’s dress.”
She lets out a watery chuckle. “Okay,” she says, and she can’t help but smile, just a little bit. “Show me.”
He pulls out his phone to show her the pictures he’s taken, and she curls up against his side to look at the pictures and listen to her wonderful father describe the particulars of this design.
Slowly, her breathing begins to even out.
Daddy’s right. Screw Lane, screw them all. Her family’s awesome, and anyone who thinks otherwise is so not worth her time, or her tears.
~*~
03. Pen Pals, G. Kurt discovers Blaine through a pen-pal program run by a local PFLAG chapter. They get to know each other trough letters. I had a full-on love story planned with this, but I think the bunny died. Here is the start of that story idea.
Kurt was just getting started on his sewing project for the summer, a dress for Mercedes, when there was a knock at his door.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Kurt swiveled to find his dad standing there with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Hey, Kurt. You busy right now?”
“No,” said Kurt, putting his pencil down beside his sketches. “What's up?”
His dad came all the way into the room and sat on the edge of Kurt’s bed. “Me and Carole heard about this state program that’s run by a local PFLAG chapter,” he stated. Kurt’s eyebrows went up of their own volition. “It’s a program that gives gay teens a sort of pen-pal system, where you can write letters back and forth with someone your age who might be going through the same stuff as you. And, you know, if you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, but I just thought – I dunno, I thought it might be nice. So if you’re interested, I’ve got the sign-up forms and all the info here.”
He held the papers out, and Kurt, more than a little intrigued, reached for them immediately. He looked down at the papers for a moment, and then raised his head. “Thanks, Dad,” he said softly.
His dad shrugged and stood up. "It was nothing."
“No,” said Kurt firmly, “it wasn’t nothing. I really appreciate it.”
“Well, you’re welcome.” His dad smiled slightly, and then let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Kurt turned in his chair to spread the papers out on top of his sketches. He grabbed his pencil and hunched over the papers to read them.
The program was called Forging Friendships. Terrible name aside, it actually sounded like a good idea. It was meant to give gay teens a chance to contact each other, given Ohio’s traditional, small-minded environment, to connect gay teens in the area and give them a chance to talk, somewhat anonymously, about their experiences. When someone signed up, they received a letters from participants in the area, and that someone could choose to respond to them.
Kurt filled out the papers and brought them with him when he went down for dinner. They were mailed out later that night, and Kurt promptly forgot about them until he got a letter in the mail about a week later.
Kurt brought the letter upstairs to read in private.
Hi, it read.
I found out about this program through my school, and it sounded pretty awesome, so... here I am writing this letter.
My name's Blaine. I go to an all-boys school, where I sing in the glee club. I play the piano. Music is just... it's beyond words. No matter what crap is going on in my life, I can always turn to it to feel a little better. I know that's not exactly a unique feeling, but it's true nonetheless.
I'm gay. I'm out at my school, and it still kind of amazes me how cool everyone here is about it. I transferred here at the beginning of the year because no one was cool about it at my old school. I'm happy here, but sometimes I feel like I ran away. Like I couldn't face up to the bullying I experienced there, and it's one regret I can't quite shake.
But music helps.
Whoever you are, I hope you're okay at your school. And I'd love to hear from you.
Sincerely,
Blaine
Kurt read the letter three times, soaking in every word.
Blaine sounded amazing.
Kurt picked up his pencil and picked out his nicest stationary and began his reply.
Dear Blaine...
~*~
04. On Aging, PG-13 for language. An extra scene from Born This Way, featuring Kurt and Burt immediately following the meeting in Figgins' office.
“Kurt, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you going back there,” Burt says as soon as they’re on the road and heading home from McKinley. “I aint stupid. I could tell how rehearsed those goddamn lines were. And his father just lapped it up.”
Kurt knows better than to say anything; this is a rant of epic proportions.
Burt smacks the steering wheel with his hand and snaps the turn signal. “Asking if he can call me Burt like we’re a coupla pals chattin’ over a beer,” he grunts. “His son threatens the life of my son, and I’m overreacting? I need to cut his son some slack? The goddamn nerve!”
Kurt starts with surprise. His dad must be really mad if he's swearing.
“And him saying, I remember what we used to say about ‘the gays’,” Burt spits out angrily. Kurt clenches his jaw shut on the desire to cut in. “He is a grown-ass man, and he hasn’t heard anywhere in the last few years that you don’t call ‘em ‘the gays’?”
Kurt bites his lip on a response.
“His kid tortures you for months, and I’m just s’posed to... what, let it slide like it wasn’t a fuckin’ hate crime to threaten your life?”
He’s apparently too angry to say anything else right now because he lets out a growl of anger and clenches his fists on the steering wheel, breathing hard.
“Dad,” he says softly, in serious wonderment, “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Burt grunts noncommittally in reply.
“Look, what you said back there? It was amazing, and I am so lucky to have you at my side. But I have to go back. It’s not just because I want to, it’s because I can help Dave figure it out.”
“It is not your job to educate homophobes, Kurt!” Burt interrupts roughly.
“It kind of is, Dad,” Kurt counters, matching his father’s tone of voice. “Every rights movement in history had the people being oppressed rising up and educating the oppressors. It doesn’t happen overnight, but in small ways we can reach out and teach people that what they’ve been taught in the past is wrong.”
“Not if it puts you in danger,” Burt says insistently, and his voice actually shakes. “He said he was going to kill you, and whether or not he meant it is goddamn irrelevant.”
“Dad!” Kurt snaps. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve been through more than any of the idiots at that school can even imagine. I’ve been through Mom dying, I’ve been through you almost dying. And I’ve been bullied and teased my entire life. If those experiences aren’t a precursor for adulthood, then what the hell is? And adults? They face adversity head-on. They don’t stay in safety all the time, they come out of the woodwork and risk endangerment to live lives of freedom and happiness so the next generation can do the same. I need to be free and happy at McKinley so I can be free and happy in life.”
Burt sighs heavily. “Kurt, I wish you didn’t have to be an adult yet. You’re still a teenager.”
“In age, not in experience,” Kurt says gently. “This is good, Dad. I’m prepared. In a few years I’ll be going out into the real world, and there is a lot of homophobia out there. Thankfully, I’m ready to deal with it. I’m ready to go back to the real world and deal.”
Burt turns the corner on to their street and sighs again. They sit in silence for a few moments. “So, what’d you say to the little pissant when we were in the hall?”
Kurt chuckles lightly. He weighs his options. “I made a deal with him. A deal he couldn’t refuse. I’m starting a PFLAG chapter at McKinley, and he’ll be kind enough to help out. He is going to be educated, and maybe one day he’ll be educated enough to actively search out the freedom and happiness he deserves.”
Having pulled into the driveway, Burt kills the ignition and turns to Kurt. “There’s a part of the story here that I’m missing, and I’ve gotta feeling you’re not gonna tell me what it is.”
Kurt meets his father’s gaze. “I have a feeling I don’t have to tell you the whole story, because I’m pretty sure you’ve already worked it out for yourself. Hell, I’m sure you knew people, growing up, who were a little too hard on ‘the gays’.”
Burt closes his eyes and shakes his head. “And suddenly it all comes together.” His face registers anxiety. “Are you sure about this, Kurt? I worry, okay? I can't help it, I just--I couldn't handle it if you got hurt.” He finishes speaking in a shaky voice, and Kurt is forcefully reminded of long days and nights waiting for his dad to wake up, of wondering how the hell he was ever going to recover if his dad didn’t make it through.
“I got this,” he says confidently. “After all, I have this really amazing dad who’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for. He’s also tough, and he's got a tough son to match.”
Burt pulls his cap back and straightens it. “He gets that from his mom.”
Kurt swallows thickly and shakes his head. “No.”
Burt smiles, reaches over and ruffles Kurt’s hair. Kurt shoves the offending hand away and with a roll of his eyes. “Stir fry tonight?” he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. Burt hums in affirmation as he steps out of the car. They meet in front of it, and Burt gathers him into a hug with an arm around Kurt’s shoulders.
“So what’d you think of my analogy back there?” Burt asks, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder as they walk up the front path.
“The water in the ocean one?” Kurt grins. “Inspired. Like I said, you’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.”
Burt shrugs with a smile. “I’ve had a good teacher.”
Kurt laughs and unlocks the door, leading the way inside.
~*~
05. Can You Repeat The Question?, NC-17. Puck asks a question during rehearsal that Kurt can't help but be intrigued by. This was originally going to be a much longer story detailing Kurt and Blaine's exploration of the themes in this teaser of sorts, but I've lost the inspiration for it.
They’re all waiting for Mr Schue when Puck turns to Kurt, suddenly, completely out of the blue, and asks, “Hey, so, with two dudes, I guess one of you’s gotta be, you know, giving it to the other?”
“What?” Kurt squeeks, looking up from his phone.
“You know. Like, with a guy and a girl the mechanics are obvious. But with two guys, one of you has to be... you know. Is it you or your boy that’s in charge?”
Kurt gapes at Puck. “In charge?” he echoes faintly.
“Yeah, who’s the boss? Like, which one of you is on top when you do the nasty.”
Kurt tries to exchange an appalled look with the rest of New Directions, but they’re all watching the conversation expectantly, as if waiting for Kurt’s answer. Kurt shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that, Puckerman.”
“What? You’re one of the guys. This is what guys talk about.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not talking about that with you. Forget it.” And Kurt looks down at the phone in his hand, which is open on a text that Kurt was in the process of typing out before he was interrupted.
I miss you. I keep thinking about last night when
Kurt frowns and deletes the message, then writes Can we meet up after school? He sends it and starts talking with Mercedes. But his mind is elsewhere.
Who is 'the boss'? Is there a boss? Kurt’s really not sure.
He thinks about it all day; can’t help but wonder, when he and Blaine eventually have sex (which could happen any day now at this rate) whether it’ll be him or Blaine ‘in charge’, as Puckerman so delicately put it. Kurt’s not even sure what he wants to know.
He's not sure that it actually comes down to someone being 'in charge'.
Just thinking about it makes him blush.
Blaine rings the doorbell about half an hour after Kurt gets home. Kurt answers it and smiles into the kiss Blaine immediately plants on him. “Ugh, I miss you,” Blaine mutters. “All the time.”
“Me too.” Kurt kisses Blaine’s jaw and pulls back a little. “How was your day?” he asks.
“It was okay,” Blaine says simply. “Yours?”
Kurt’s mind immediately goes to the conversation with Puck. “Weird,” he says, heading into the house.
Blaine follows him in. “Weird how?”
“Puckerman was bored, as usual, so he--god, it’s so embarrassing. He basically asked about the mechanics of gay sex, and wanted to know,” Kurt flushes as he sits down on the couch, and Blaine stares at him as he lowers himself on the cushion beside Kurt. “He wanted to know which of us is ‘in charge.’”
Blaine laughs. “That’s hilarious! What’d you tell him?”
“Nothing!” Kurt says quickly. “I mean, I don’t think either one of us is in charge exactly, but I wouldn’t tell him about that stuff anyway.”
Blaine pulls his legs up on to the couch to cross them, like he did in Kurt’s room months ago, and he leans forward. “You don’t think one of us is in charge?” he asks in a perplexed sort of way.
Kurt stares. “... No. Why, do you?”
Blaine ducks his head, blushing just a little. “Well, I kind of think you are.”
Kurt rears his head back before he can stop himself. “What? Really?”
“Yeah,” Blaine mutters, eyes still averted. “Like last night, when we were making out? You were totally in charge.” He looks up, and Kurt feels his mouth go dry at the memory, and at Blaine’s current heated expression.
“I was?” Kurt demands, feeling suddenly alarmed. “But that’s not right! You should say something if I’m being pushy or, or--”
“You weren’t being pushy, Kurt. You were just... like you said, in charge. It wasn't a bad thing, believe me. It was... hot. I liked it.”
Kurt’s mouth drops open. “You liked it?” he breathes.
Blaine nods, and a split second later they’re kissing enthusiastically, and holy shit, Kurt’s whimpering into it and scrambling to straddle Blaine’s waist on the couch. Blaine moans into Kurt’s mouth, placing his hands on Kurt’s hips and tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he groans. “Like that. So hot, Kurt.”
Kurt hums, rolling his hips down to get some contact with Blaine’s hips and trailing his mouth down Blaine’s jaw and throat. Blaine’s hands clench on Kurt’s hips.
“When I think about us doing more,” Blaine gasps, “I always picture you in charge.”
Kurt shudders into their kiss, overwhelmed by mental images of thrusting wildly into Blaine; doing it slow and gentle until it’s a slow burn of desperate want. Kurt has no idea where these fantasies are coming from. Just a few months ago he was uncomfortable with even the thought of having sex, and now he’s rolling his hips down into Blaine’s lap, where he can feel Blaine’s hard-on swelling with every move of his hips, and the strain of Blaine's throat with every swirl of his tongue on Blaine's skin.
Blaine arches up, keening high and so, so sexy, and gasps, "Yeah, yeah, Kurt."
Kurt moans and lets out a harsh breath next to Blaine's ear. Blaine surges up against Kurt's erection, groaning deeply.
Kurt shoves Blaine's shoulders down so that they're almost lying down. He leans in and curls his arms around Blaine's head, thrown back against the arm of the couch. He licks into Blaine's mouth and thrusts down, and Blaine cries out, hands gripping tightly to Kurt's hips. He shivers and lets out a long, low moan before collapsing back into the cushions, panting like he's run a marathon.
"Did you just--?" Kurt croaks, and Blaine opens his eyes blearily.
"Sorry," says Blaine meekly. "That was just--so intense."
He looks embarrassed, and Kurt realizes belatedly that Blaine's embarrassed he came so quickly. But that's not a problem at all.
"Hey, it's okay," says Kurt gently, moving one of his hands to stroke Blaine's hairline. "Don't be sorry."
Blaine shivers. "You haven't yet," he remarks, looking down at the still-present, and very much obvious, bulge in Kurt's pants.
Kurt smiles. "It won't take much," he says suggestively, and Blaine snakes a hand between their bodies, palms over Kurt's dick over his jeans twice before Kurt's arching his back and coming with a high moan of, "Blaine!"
Blaine's free hand scrabbles at the back of Kurt's neck to pull him back down and into a fervent kiss. Kurt kisses back, but with a bit less energy than before. His boyfriend just gave him an orgasm; he's allowed to be a little weak.
Blaine moves awkwardly all of a sudden, and Kurt realizes he's crushing him. He moves back but Blaine grabs his wrist. "Don't go away, just... let's just move a bit," and Kurt smiles and rearranges them so that they're still holding each other, but without the added difficulty breathing.
"Still think you're not in charge?" Blaine asks after a while of beautifully comfortable silence.
Kurt pushes his delighted, amused grin into Blaine's throat.
The possibilities of exploring these dynamics are endless. Kurt's a little breathless at the thought of them all.
~*~
So, as you can see, these are all very different. Some are unfinished, but I hate to see them fester in my 'Documents' folder, so hopefully you've gotten some enjoyment out of them.
Feedback is welcome, as always! ♥
For anyone curious, I'm working on my Kurt/Blaine bigbang (which will only be out in August), and on a Kurt/Blaine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_japan offering for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wordplay, both of which, now that I'm done with school, can be given my FULL attention. YAY!
Also, I'm on Tumblr now (rockinhamburger.tumblr.com)!
So here you have five unrelated stories that are either works-in-progress, stories that didn't make it to fruition, and an extra scene from a previous story of mine. All except one are Klaine-related, and the odd man out is a Kurt-Burt scene. They range from G to NC-17.
I hope they're somewhat interesting to you, and please let me know what you think of them.
01. Dinner With The Andersons, G, slightly angsty. Could have been a lengthy story, but I got stuck.
They were cleaning up after dinner, Kurt washing and Blaine drying the dishes, when Kurt suddenly spoke over the clink of glass and splash of water.
“I want to meet your parents.”
“What? Why?”
“Why not?” Kurt said calmly, turning his head to look directly at Blaine. “They should know who their son is dating.”
“Kurt, have you listened to anything I’ve said about my parents at all? They’re— they’re clueless about this stuff because they don’t even want to bother getting a clue. It’d be so uncomfortable. I’d be uncomfortable.”
“But that’s how it should be,” Kurt said insistently. “Meeting the parents is always uncomfortable, whatever the reason. And--Blaine, I’m serious about us, and I want them to see that.”
Blaine strode over and kissed Kurt. “You’re sweet. But it would be way too weird.”
Kurt shrugged in a way that managed to look graceful. “Okay. Think about it, though.”
He went right back to his washing, like he hadn’t just planted a virus-thought in his boyfriend’s brain. Blaine could not stop himself from picturing variations on how a meeting between Kurt and his parents might go down as he dried every dish, trying to ignore the little voice that was telling him to agree to Kurt’s suggestion.
-
When he got home, Blaine found his father sitting in his home office with the door half-closed. He rapped sharply on the wood with his knuckles. “Dad?”
His father looked up from the papers he had spread out over his desk. “Yes, Blaine? How can I help you?” he asked, formal as ever.
Blaine opened the door the whole way and took a few steps inside, folding his hands behind his back to fool his body into thinking this was going to be a casual, everyday conversation. He breathed in deeply before announcing, formally, “I’d like to invite Kurt over on Friday evening, to join us for dinner.”
His father did not mask his surprise and discomfort quickly enough, but he was soon wearing an expression of extreme neutrality. “Well,” he said, but he didn’t continue right away, looking down at his desk. “I--that is, I’m not sure your mother has appropriately planned dinner for an extra person, and--well, I wouldn’t want to meddle in her plans. Perhaps another time?”
A thrill of anger that ran through Blaine. He could not believe his dad was using such an obviously false excuse for why he didn’t want Kurt coming over. Blaine kept his voice steady as he spoke.
“I see,” he said softly. “You’re saying Mom couldn’t possibly make enough food to accommodate for another dinner guest? A guest whom, I might add, is extremely important to me and should therefore be at least marginally important to you?”
Blaine had never, ever talked back to his father or stood up for himself like this. The novelty seemed to have registered for his father as well, if his shocked eyes had anything to say about it.
It was oddly invigorating.
“Blaine, I don’t think--” his dad started, flustered, but Blaine held up one hand, cutting him off wordlessly. He shook his head curtly.
“I wasn’t asking,” Blaine said firmly, “I was telling. Kurt is coming over on Friday, and that’s that. End of discussion.” Then he nodded decisively and said, brightly, “He’ll be here at 6:30.”
And he left, closing the door behind him.
-
Over the next three days, Blaine shamelessly enjoyed every indication that his parents were freaking out over having to meet Kurt. His mom cleared her throat compulsively and cleaned the entire house from top to bottom; his dad closed himself in his office and only left it out of absolute necessity. The night before the big event, Blaine’s mother kept coming into his room to ask questions.
“Does he have any allergies? Are there any foods he doesn’t like? What sort of meal is he expecting? Does he have any dietary restrictions?”
Blaine answered the questions easily, masking his bafflement at how blatantly nervous she was. He had expected discomfort from his parents, to be sure, but this frenzied anxiety was something Blaine had rarely seen in his mother before.
When she came into his room without knocking, and asked, borderline hysterical, “Will Kurt be offended by the cross in the entrance way?” Blaine decided enough was enough.
“Mom,” he said softly. “Why are you freaking out about this?”
She fidgeted uncomfortably on the spot. “I just--I want to make a good impression, Blaine.”
Blaine waited for further explanation, but none was forthcoming. He was thrown by his mother’s words because they seemed to imply that Kurt was someone she needed to make a good impression for, and that was as soothing as it was unexpected.
Blaine gave her a reassuring smile. “He won’t be offended by the cross. Or anything else in the house, for that matter. Kurt’s easygoing. He’s high-maintenance sometimes,” all the time he thought fondly, “but he will love the house, and your food, and he will be extremely polite and kind. I promise.”
She nodded jerkily and turned to leave, but Blaine thought he might have seen just the tiniest flicker of a smile on her face.
-
Twenty minutes before Kurt was set to arrive, his dad found Blaine sitting in the living room, where he’d been reading the same sentence over and over in his chemistry textbook and trying not to obsess about dinner.
“Blaine,” he said once he'd sat down. Blaine looked over, somehow nervous but forcing himself to make eye-contact. He inclined his head inquisitively, and Blaine’s dad sighed.
“Your mother and I don’t know anything about your... boyfriend,” Blaine raised an eyebrow; at least he managed to say the word, even if he did stumble over it. “We don’t know what his hobbies or interests are. We don’t know what he’s like.”
Blaine responded carefully. “Well, he’ll be here any minute now, so you can ask about his hobbies and interests then. Good conversation starters, you know? He’ll be happy to tell you.”
His dad looked away then back again. “Is--is there anything we should know?”
“About what?” Blaine asked.
“About Kurt,” he said, and he looked so uncertain that Blaine couldn't help but smile.
“Stop worrying. Kurt’s great. You’ll get along fine,” he said cheerfully, and he clasped his dad on the shoulder. He pretended to go back to his reading, watching out of his peripheral vision as his dad stayed exactly where he was for three whole seconds before getting to his feet and leaving the room.
Strictly speaking, Blaine was not a vengeful person. But this was admittedly fun payback for many years of his own uncertain anxiety.
The doorbell rang at 6:30 on the dot. Blaine closed his book and strolled to the front door, glancing into the dining room where his parents were sitting at the table, exchanging a vaguely panicked look. He stopped. “Aren’t you going to meet him at the door?” Blaine asked casually. They stood up and started forward, and Blaine continued to the door, letting them trail him.
Kurt was smiling when Blaine opened the door. He wa wearing a red button-down shirt and black pants; in fact, it was close to the outfit he'd worn to Rachel’s party (ugh; where Blaine got totally wasted and made very, very bad decisions), but without the leather strap. Blaine almost wished Kurt had worn the leather strap, just for his parents’ expressions which would no doubt be comedy gold.
“Hi! That tree on your lawn must be a hundred years old!” Kurt remarked excitedly. “It’s gorgeous!”
Blaine grinned at Kurt and beckoned him inside. “A hundred and thirty, actually. Totally gorgeous, but not so good for climbing,” he said, pulling Kurt into a hug. “And hi! How was your drive over?”
“Fine,” said Kurt. “Your directions were excellent.”
“Good.” Blaine shut the door behind Kurt, took a deep breath and turned to find his parents standing very close together a few paces away. He smiled. “Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Kurt. Kurt, that’s my mom--”
Kurt advanced with his hand held out for her to take. She fumbled to shake it, but Kurt grabbed her hand up and actually planted a kiss on the back of her hand. Blaine stared.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs Anderson,” Kurt greeted.
“Leslie’s fine,” she said softly, looking like she’d been hit in the face.
“Beautiful name,” he said succinctly, nodding, "I have a cousin named Leslie." He turned to Blaine’s dad. “Sir,” he said, holding his hand out to him now. “Pleasure to meet you.”
His father grasped Kurt’s hand and shook it once. “You too,” he mumbled.
“Thank you so much for inviting me,” Kurt said warmly, taking a step back looking at them both in turn.
“Of course, the pleasure’s ours,” Blaine’s mom said quickly. "Dinner will be ready any moment. Please make yourself comfortable!"
The words were just this side of manic. Blaine resisted the urge to laugh, and palmed the small of Kurt's back. "Do you want anything to drink with your dinner, Kurt?"
Kurt looked at Blaine through his eyelashes. "Yes, please. Water's fine."
"Excellent! It won’t be a few minutes!” Blaine's mom said, and she hurried into the kitchen, leaving an awkward silence behind.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Blaine suggested, gesturing to the living room. He guided Kurt inside in, and they sat down on the couch. Blaine’s dad hovered on his feet for a few moments before perching in the nearby chair.
“So, Mr Anderson, Blaine tells me you’re a Buckeyes fan?” Kurt began conversationally. “I have to admit I have limited knowledge on the subject, but my dad never misses a game.”
Blaine’s father glanced at Blaine, who raised his eyebrows.
“Oh?” he replied. “That’s--that's good. State football’s always more impressive than professional.”
Kurt smiled. “Precisely what my dad says.”
“And what does your dad do?” he asked, then added, “For a living, that is.”
“He owns and operates an auto-repair shop in Lima,” Kurt answered. "Hummel Tire & Lube."
Blaine's dad finally looked interested, instead of uncomfortable. "Oh, he's an entrepreneur?"
Kurt chuckled. "I am absolutely certain he would never use that word to describe himself, but for the purposes of our discussion, yes, he is."
"And it's a successful business?" Blaine's father inquired.
Blaine twitched where he was sitting.
"Very successful," Kurt replied perfunctorily. "And what do you do for a living, Sir?"
"You don't have to call me sir. James is perfectly fine."
"James, then," Kurt said with a winning smile.
Oh man, Blaine thought, Kurt was charming the pants off his dad. Which was an awkward, disgusting mental image. Ew times infinity.
"I'm a business manager, as a matter of fact," his dad said. "I currently manage several small businesses here in Ohio, and a larger, more lucrative business in New York State."
"New York?" Kurt echoed enthusiastically. "That's fantastic! New York's been my go-to city post-graduation ever since I saw The Way We Were when I was six."
Blaine suddenly felt his stomach sink horribly. He was planning on San Francisco after graduation.
"New York is a beautiful city," Blaine's father said with an affirming nod. "What do you plan on doing after graduation?"
Blaine could barely focus Kurt's answer with the way he was panicking.
"Well, I'm applying to every school in the State, and a few in some other cities, too, just to cover all my bases." Kurt winked, actually winked, "And that is the only sports metaphor you will ever hear me use."
Blaine's father actually laughed. "Well, it's a very wise course of action. You want as many options as possible, of course. You graduate next year?" On Kurt's nod, he asked, "Have you started your applications yet?"
"Of course I have!" Kurt said, looking startled at the question. "I started those in junior high school."
Blaine whipped his head around to stare at Kurt. "Since junior high?" he croaked.
Kurt gave Blaine his patented judging you look. "I have to get into every school I apply to. That's not going to happen if I haven't made my applications pitch-perfect, Blaine."
"Well, yeah," said Blaine weakly, "but junior high?"
Kurt glanced at Blaine's dad for a brief moment, then said, carefully, "I've been wanting to get out of Ohio for a very long time."
Blaine swallowed thickly. This was one of those things that Blaine only peripherally understood. He and Kurt had talked before about the ways in which they differed, and their discussion about passing for straight (or, in Kurt's case, being unable to do so) had nearly culminated in an argument. Blaine could pass; Kurt couldn't, and people throughout Kurt's life had been showing the ways in which he was different from everyone else for a very long time.
He couldn't quite manage responding words to Kurt, and thankfully Blaine's mother announced that dinner was ready, rescuing Blaine from the speechless moment.
They made their way to the dining room. As they worked through dinner, Kurt kept up attentive conversation with Blaine's parents. Blaine contributed occasionally, but he felt strangely morose all the way through.
Kurt wanted to go to New York. Kurt was a set-in-his-ways kind of guy, and Blaine had the terrible feeling that if he ever posited the decision to Kurt between himself and New York (not that he ever would, but god, the desire was there), he would lose in a heartbeat.
The conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but Blaine would not be delivering any sort of ultimatum. It scared him how much he was already reconsidering his post-graduation plans to accommodate for Kurt; to know in his heart that Kurt would not be making those reconsiderations regarding Blaine.
When Kurt thought of his future, was Blaine there?
It couldn't be remotely healthy, but Blaine would put off the conversation for as long as possible, because he couldn't stand knowing for sure on the off chance he didn't feature in Kurt's future plans.
He would watch Kurt cut his chicken into delicate squares, watch him dazzle his parents with his every word, and revel in the squeeze of his heart at those sights instead.
~*~
02. Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way, a deleted scene from the future!married!Klaine 'verse, PG-13 for homophobic language. Stars Kurt and Blaine's daughter, Olivia. I wrote this months ago and completely forgot about it, but I like it a lot and wanted to share it with those of you who enjoyed this 'verse.
The irony of the project Olivia’s assigned for her ethics class does not escape her.
Adoption.
Olivia’s paired with a girl from her class who is a tad ignorant. She shows this ignorance only five seconds into the class time provided by stating, “I don’t know anyone who’s adopted!”
“Well, I know a thing or two about adoption,” Olivia says, trying to smile in a friendly sort of way instead of snapping, as she'd like to, that Lane can't possibly know for sure if she knows anyone who's adopted.
It turns out, though, that Lane isn’t a tad ignorant, but extremely so.
-
“If my parents weren’t renovating we could totally work on the project at my house,” Lane has said by way of explanation.
“It’s fine,” Olivia assures her. “We can work at my house. My parents won’t mind.”
And so, they make small talk on the bus ride home and short walk from the stop to her house. Lane has the unfortunate personality trait of sharing too much about herself for the limited amount of time they've actively known each other. Within the space of half an hour, Olivia learns her relationships status, what she had for breakfast, and that Lane has four little brothers, goes to church every Sunday, and is a PK--"Pastor's Kid. That's the lingo in church circles."
Olivia mostly nods along as Lane prattles on about her life, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she leads Lane up the front path to her house.
“Wow! Your house is beautiful!” Lane says.
“Thanks,” Olivia replied as she unlocks and opens the door. She holds it open for Lane and calls out a vague greeting in case someone’s home.
Dad is. “Hi!” he calls from the dining room. “How was your day?”
She enters the room and takes in the familiar sight of him grading tests at the table, with what’s probably his tenth cup of coffee of the day, his curly hair in disarray from running his hands through it.
She smiles. “It was fine. How was yours?”
“Also fine,” he says with a smile, putting down his pen and draining his coffee mug before setting it aside on the table.
Belatedly, she remembers Lane, who Dad blinks up at when she appears at Olivia’s side.
“Oh, Dad, this is Lane. We’re working on a project together for my ethics class. Lane, this is my dad.”
Her father stands up and crosses the room to shake Lane’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Lane.”
“You too, Mr Anderson,” she says.
“We’ll be upstairs,” Olivia tells him, and he wishes them luck as they make their way upstairs.
They get started on their work, but Lane’s sort of difficult to keep on task; she gets distracted easily, which doesn’t bode well for the weeks of work ahead of them. After a few hours of very slow work, with Olivia writing down everything she knows about adoption, which is a lot, her dad calls up the stairs, “Is Lane staying for dinner?”
Olivia looks up at Lane, willing her to say no.
“Sure!” Lane calls. “Thank you!”
Olivia knows the exact moment her daddy walks through the front door because he’s singing as he enters the house:
"Another winter day
Has come and gone away
And even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home!”
And, embarrassingly, her dad sings back from the kitchen, “Let me go hooooooome!”
“Wow,” Lane says, turning her head toward the sound.
“Yeah, that happens a lot,” Olivia says dryly. “You get used to it.”
“Cool!” says Lane. “No one sings at my house.”
“Lucky you,” Olivia jokes.
There are hushed voices downstairs, her parents exchanging hellos and how are yous, like they do every single day of their lives. Olivia will never understand how they don’t get completely bored of it, but in a day and age when most couples break it off, she's secretly so glad her parents are still desperately in love.
Then she hears footsteps on the stairs, and her daddy appears at the door, looking windswept from the cold outside. “Hi sweetie!” he trills.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Lane freezes in her act of writing and whips her head around.
“Hi, there,” he says, smiling kindly at her.
Lane doesn’t say a word; she just stares at him, taking in the designer clothes and immaculate hair, a look of dawning comprehension and then sudden discomfort taking over her features.
Her father’s kind smile softens, and he looks at Olivia with his eyebrows raised. “Dinner should be ready any minute now, so come on downstairs when you’re ready.”
She tries to communicate her apologies to him without speaking. “Thanks,” she says awkwardly, before bending back over her notebook.
He goes back downstairs, and there's more hushed conversation with the occasional shout of laughter. The uncomfortable silence left in her daddy's wake is palpable. She tries to focus for a few more minutes, wishing fervently that Lane would just leave already; if she has such a problem with her family, no one’s forcing her to stay.
Her dads are setting the table when they trek into the dining room a few minutes later. Olivia hurries to help them, just to have something to do, and after a few minutes they’re sitting down to a supper of pasta and salad.
“Soooo,” says Daddy, as they’re passing serving dishes around and helping themselves, “Today I finished the dress Emma Stone’s wearing to the Golden Globes.”
Olivia forgets all about her former discomfort at this news. “What!?” she shrieks. “UM, pictures!?”
“Of course!" Daddy beams, "They’re on my phone, I’ll show you later. So, what was your day like, now that I’ve set the bar so sigh?”
“It was okay," she says, and she smirks. “Lane and I are working on a project for my ethics class, and you will never guess what subject we were given.”
“Oooh,” Dad interjects, “I’ll take that challenge. The environment.”
“Not even close,” Olivia laughs.
Daddy jumps in with, “Affirmative action?”
“Nope.”
“Gambling?”
“Prostitution?”
“Um, we have company?” Olivia says, flushing but giggling anyway. “And no to both. You won’t guess. Adoption. Of all the freaking topics!” They laugh along with Olivia.
Lane stops eating to ask, rather abruptly, “How did you adopt Olivia? Did you use a surrogate mother?”
Olivia’s mouth drops open. She seriously just went for it, with no hesitation, just outright asked.
Her parents look similarly surprised at Lane’s forwardness.
“Uh,” says her dad.
“Well,” says her daddy.
“No surrogate. It was a closed adoption,” says Olivia, shoulders tensing.
“Oh.” Lane eats a lettuce leaf, looking curious but apparently uncertain if she should continue asking questions.
Olivia’s grateful she doesn’t. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure we’ll be getting an ‘A’ on that paper.”
Daddy chuckles, “As usual!”
“Do you ever wonder about your mom?” Lane asks suddenly.
The silence that rings out around the table is actually painful. Olivia puts her fork down with trembling fingers and turns her head toward Lane. “No," she says shakily. "These are my parents.”
Lane’s starting to look upset, which Olivia’s had plenty of experience with. A few of Olivia’s childhood friends initially had trouble understanding life without a mother, but the difference is that they were all under the age of ten when they struggled through that.
“But,” starts Lane, as if she can’t help herself, and Olivia closes her eyes against a flood of frustration and anger and the urge to shout, ‘shut up!’ “But who do you talk to about girl stuff? You know, all the stuff moms talk about. Don’t you ever wonder what it’s like to have a mother?”
The silence this time is even worse. She can’t even look at her dads right now. “No,” she says firmly, trying to keep her voice even. She picks up her fork. “How was work, Dad?”
Dad starts, probably at being addressed so out-of-the-blue, but he gets it, because he’s amazing and perfect. “Like any other day,” he says, shrugging. “I watched my students take their math quizzes.”
Lane remains silent for the rest of the meal, frowning down at her food while Olivia shoots her fathers expressions of exasperation and irritation, and they shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it really, really is.
As soon as dinner’s finished, her parents loading the dishwasher in the kitchen, Olivia stands up and walks to the front door. She opens it pointedly. Lane approaches slowly, open confusion on her face.
“Time for you to go,” Olivia says flatly.
Lane looks blindsided. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But--the project--"
“I’ll send you the essay when I’m finished. We’ll do it in class and over email, but I don’t want you in my house.”
Lane stares at her in disbelief for a few moments, and then she scowls and starts forcing her feet into her boots. “I don’t know what your problem is,” she says, pulling her jacket on with jerky movements.
Olivia scowls back. “Well, it’s only a matter of time before you say something really insulting, so I’m cutting you off before you have the chance. You think I don’t know what that silence was about upstairs? What you’re getting at with those bullshit questions? You’re obviously uncomfortable, and so am I, so what’s the point in pretending?”
“Whatever,” Lane snaps. “It’s not my fault you didn’t warn me beforehand.”
“There is nothing about my life that requires a warning,” Olivia snaps back, shaking with suppressed anger. “I don’t owe you any explanations whatsoever. I don’t want your ignorance in my house. My parents are amazing, and I won’t have anyone implying otherwise.”
“It’s just weird,” Lane says suddenly. “All I was saying is that it must be weird. I just think you’re missing out on all the things you can get from having a mother.”
“Oh my god! You are so ridiculous,” Olivia shouts. “It’s not weird because this is all I know. Do you question the way your family works? No! I don't, either, because I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now please leave already. And don’t let the door hit you your ignorant ass on the way out.”
“It’s not ignorance,” Lane mumbles, “It's the truth. Kids should have a father and a mother.”
Olivia lets go of her grasp on the wood of the door to slam her hand back down onto it as hard as she can. “Get the fuck out of my house right now!”
Lane literally runs out.
Olivia slams the door behind her. The sound is like harsh reality crashing down, and she heaves an angry sob. This is exactly the kind of bullshit her dads have had to deal with their entire lives! Maybe the country’s become more progressive since they were her age, but there are still ignorant assholes out there, and--and--
She’s starting to hyperventilate. With another sob, she turns and runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She stomps into her bedroom and bangs the door shut.
She can’t remember the last time she felt this angry. She's shaking from it.
Catching a glimpse of the notebooks they were working out of just an hour ago, she throws them in turn against her window and then throws herself down on to her bed. She sobs into her pillow, screaming into the soft material and clenching her fists in her comforter.
Fucking bitch!
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on her door. She turns her head to the side to snap out, “I’m fine.”
Daddy opens the door. “Uh huh. I was just knocking to be polite.” He sits down on the side of her bed, and when she meets his gaze it’s a weary and tired one.
“Daddy, I’m so sorry for bringing her over here,” she sobs, tears starting up again. “I had no idea she was – that she was like that!”
He places a warm hand on her back, rubbing circles there. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he says gently. “And please don’t cry. Your father and I have heard far worse than that. She’s just young, and probably parroting the prejudice her parents have been teaching her.”
“But that’s the point!” she cries, sitting up. “You’ve heard worse. You’ve heard crap like that your whole lives, and I do not want someone, no matter how young and small-minded she is, coming in here and reminding you of all that. When I hear that stuff? When someone in the hallway says the ‘f’ word like it isn’t offensive, I just--I want to scream, because this is my world, my space, just as much as theirs, and they’re tainting it with their ugly words! All you and dad have ever done was love each other, and love me, and, what? People like Lane think there’s something wrong with that? It’s just such bullshit!”
“You’re absolutely right; it’s bullshit,” Daddy says, nodding. “And that’s all it is. If you, and your dad, and I know that, then what do their opinions matter? We can’t let their bullshit affect us. If we do, we’re just giving them what they want. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather show you Emma Stone’s dress.”
She lets out a watery chuckle. “Okay,” she says, and she can’t help but smile, just a little bit. “Show me.”
He pulls out his phone to show her the pictures he’s taken, and she curls up against his side to look at the pictures and listen to her wonderful father describe the particulars of this design.
Slowly, her breathing begins to even out.
Daddy’s right. Screw Lane, screw them all. Her family’s awesome, and anyone who thinks otherwise is so not worth her time, or her tears.
~*~
03. Pen Pals, G. Kurt discovers Blaine through a pen-pal program run by a local PFLAG chapter. They get to know each other trough letters. I had a full-on love story planned with this, but I think the bunny died. Here is the start of that story idea.
Kurt was just getting started on his sewing project for the summer, a dress for Mercedes, when there was a knock at his door.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Kurt swiveled to find his dad standing there with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Hey, Kurt. You busy right now?”
“No,” said Kurt, putting his pencil down beside his sketches. “What's up?”
His dad came all the way into the room and sat on the edge of Kurt’s bed. “Me and Carole heard about this state program that’s run by a local PFLAG chapter,” he stated. Kurt’s eyebrows went up of their own volition. “It’s a program that gives gay teens a sort of pen-pal system, where you can write letters back and forth with someone your age who might be going through the same stuff as you. And, you know, if you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, but I just thought – I dunno, I thought it might be nice. So if you’re interested, I’ve got the sign-up forms and all the info here.”
He held the papers out, and Kurt, more than a little intrigued, reached for them immediately. He looked down at the papers for a moment, and then raised his head. “Thanks, Dad,” he said softly.
His dad shrugged and stood up. "It was nothing."
“No,” said Kurt firmly, “it wasn’t nothing. I really appreciate it.”
“Well, you’re welcome.” His dad smiled slightly, and then let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Kurt turned in his chair to spread the papers out on top of his sketches. He grabbed his pencil and hunched over the papers to read them.
The program was called Forging Friendships. Terrible name aside, it actually sounded like a good idea. It was meant to give gay teens a chance to contact each other, given Ohio’s traditional, small-minded environment, to connect gay teens in the area and give them a chance to talk, somewhat anonymously, about their experiences. When someone signed up, they received a letters from participants in the area, and that someone could choose to respond to them.
Kurt filled out the papers and brought them with him when he went down for dinner. They were mailed out later that night, and Kurt promptly forgot about them until he got a letter in the mail about a week later.
Kurt brought the letter upstairs to read in private.
Hi, it read.
I found out about this program through my school, and it sounded pretty awesome, so... here I am writing this letter.
My name's Blaine. I go to an all-boys school, where I sing in the glee club. I play the piano. Music is just... it's beyond words. No matter what crap is going on in my life, I can always turn to it to feel a little better. I know that's not exactly a unique feeling, but it's true nonetheless.
I'm gay. I'm out at my school, and it still kind of amazes me how cool everyone here is about it. I transferred here at the beginning of the year because no one was cool about it at my old school. I'm happy here, but sometimes I feel like I ran away. Like I couldn't face up to the bullying I experienced there, and it's one regret I can't quite shake.
But music helps.
Whoever you are, I hope you're okay at your school. And I'd love to hear from you.
Sincerely,
Blaine
Kurt read the letter three times, soaking in every word.
Blaine sounded amazing.
Kurt picked up his pencil and picked out his nicest stationary and began his reply.
Dear Blaine...
~*~
04. On Aging, PG-13 for language. An extra scene from Born This Way, featuring Kurt and Burt immediately following the meeting in Figgins' office.
“Kurt, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you going back there,” Burt says as soon as they’re on the road and heading home from McKinley. “I aint stupid. I could tell how rehearsed those goddamn lines were. And his father just lapped it up.”
Kurt knows better than to say anything; this is a rant of epic proportions.
Burt smacks the steering wheel with his hand and snaps the turn signal. “Asking if he can call me Burt like we’re a coupla pals chattin’ over a beer,” he grunts. “His son threatens the life of my son, and I’m overreacting? I need to cut his son some slack? The goddamn nerve!”
Kurt starts with surprise. His dad must be really mad if he's swearing.
“And him saying, I remember what we used to say about ‘the gays’,” Burt spits out angrily. Kurt clenches his jaw shut on the desire to cut in. “He is a grown-ass man, and he hasn’t heard anywhere in the last few years that you don’t call ‘em ‘the gays’?”
Kurt bites his lip on a response.
“His kid tortures you for months, and I’m just s’posed to... what, let it slide like it wasn’t a fuckin’ hate crime to threaten your life?”
He’s apparently too angry to say anything else right now because he lets out a growl of anger and clenches his fists on the steering wheel, breathing hard.
“Dad,” he says softly, in serious wonderment, “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Burt grunts noncommittally in reply.
“Look, what you said back there? It was amazing, and I am so lucky to have you at my side. But I have to go back. It’s not just because I want to, it’s because I can help Dave figure it out.”
“It is not your job to educate homophobes, Kurt!” Burt interrupts roughly.
“It kind of is, Dad,” Kurt counters, matching his father’s tone of voice. “Every rights movement in history had the people being oppressed rising up and educating the oppressors. It doesn’t happen overnight, but in small ways we can reach out and teach people that what they’ve been taught in the past is wrong.”
“Not if it puts you in danger,” Burt says insistently, and his voice actually shakes. “He said he was going to kill you, and whether or not he meant it is goddamn irrelevant.”
“Dad!” Kurt snaps. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve been through more than any of the idiots at that school can even imagine. I’ve been through Mom dying, I’ve been through you almost dying. And I’ve been bullied and teased my entire life. If those experiences aren’t a precursor for adulthood, then what the hell is? And adults? They face adversity head-on. They don’t stay in safety all the time, they come out of the woodwork and risk endangerment to live lives of freedom and happiness so the next generation can do the same. I need to be free and happy at McKinley so I can be free and happy in life.”
Burt sighs heavily. “Kurt, I wish you didn’t have to be an adult yet. You’re still a teenager.”
“In age, not in experience,” Kurt says gently. “This is good, Dad. I’m prepared. In a few years I’ll be going out into the real world, and there is a lot of homophobia out there. Thankfully, I’m ready to deal with it. I’m ready to go back to the real world and deal.”
Burt turns the corner on to their street and sighs again. They sit in silence for a few moments. “So, what’d you say to the little pissant when we were in the hall?”
Kurt chuckles lightly. He weighs his options. “I made a deal with him. A deal he couldn’t refuse. I’m starting a PFLAG chapter at McKinley, and he’ll be kind enough to help out. He is going to be educated, and maybe one day he’ll be educated enough to actively search out the freedom and happiness he deserves.”
Having pulled into the driveway, Burt kills the ignition and turns to Kurt. “There’s a part of the story here that I’m missing, and I’ve gotta feeling you’re not gonna tell me what it is.”
Kurt meets his father’s gaze. “I have a feeling I don’t have to tell you the whole story, because I’m pretty sure you’ve already worked it out for yourself. Hell, I’m sure you knew people, growing up, who were a little too hard on ‘the gays’.”
Burt closes his eyes and shakes his head. “And suddenly it all comes together.” His face registers anxiety. “Are you sure about this, Kurt? I worry, okay? I can't help it, I just--I couldn't handle it if you got hurt.” He finishes speaking in a shaky voice, and Kurt is forcefully reminded of long days and nights waiting for his dad to wake up, of wondering how the hell he was ever going to recover if his dad didn’t make it through.
“I got this,” he says confidently. “After all, I have this really amazing dad who’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for. He’s also tough, and he's got a tough son to match.”
Burt pulls his cap back and straightens it. “He gets that from his mom.”
Kurt swallows thickly and shakes his head. “No.”
Burt smiles, reaches over and ruffles Kurt’s hair. Kurt shoves the offending hand away and with a roll of his eyes. “Stir fry tonight?” he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. Burt hums in affirmation as he steps out of the car. They meet in front of it, and Burt gathers him into a hug with an arm around Kurt’s shoulders.
“So what’d you think of my analogy back there?” Burt asks, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder as they walk up the front path.
“The water in the ocean one?” Kurt grins. “Inspired. Like I said, you’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.”
Burt shrugs with a smile. “I’ve had a good teacher.”
Kurt laughs and unlocks the door, leading the way inside.
~*~
05. Can You Repeat The Question?, NC-17. Puck asks a question during rehearsal that Kurt can't help but be intrigued by. This was originally going to be a much longer story detailing Kurt and Blaine's exploration of the themes in this teaser of sorts, but I've lost the inspiration for it.
They’re all waiting for Mr Schue when Puck turns to Kurt, suddenly, completely out of the blue, and asks, “Hey, so, with two dudes, I guess one of you’s gotta be, you know, giving it to the other?”
“What?” Kurt squeeks, looking up from his phone.
“You know. Like, with a guy and a girl the mechanics are obvious. But with two guys, one of you has to be... you know. Is it you or your boy that’s in charge?”
Kurt gapes at Puck. “In charge?” he echoes faintly.
“Yeah, who’s the boss? Like, which one of you is on top when you do the nasty.”
Kurt tries to exchange an appalled look with the rest of New Directions, but they’re all watching the conversation expectantly, as if waiting for Kurt’s answer. Kurt shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re even asking that, Puckerman.”
“What? You’re one of the guys. This is what guys talk about.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not talking about that with you. Forget it.” And Kurt looks down at the phone in his hand, which is open on a text that Kurt was in the process of typing out before he was interrupted.
I miss you. I keep thinking about last night when
Kurt frowns and deletes the message, then writes Can we meet up after school? He sends it and starts talking with Mercedes. But his mind is elsewhere.
Who is 'the boss'? Is there a boss? Kurt’s really not sure.
He thinks about it all day; can’t help but wonder, when he and Blaine eventually have sex (which could happen any day now at this rate) whether it’ll be him or Blaine ‘in charge’, as Puckerman so delicately put it. Kurt’s not even sure what he wants to know.
He's not sure that it actually comes down to someone being 'in charge'.
Just thinking about it makes him blush.
Blaine rings the doorbell about half an hour after Kurt gets home. Kurt answers it and smiles into the kiss Blaine immediately plants on him. “Ugh, I miss you,” Blaine mutters. “All the time.”
“Me too.” Kurt kisses Blaine’s jaw and pulls back a little. “How was your day?” he asks.
“It was okay,” Blaine says simply. “Yours?”
Kurt’s mind immediately goes to the conversation with Puck. “Weird,” he says, heading into the house.
Blaine follows him in. “Weird how?”
“Puckerman was bored, as usual, so he--god, it’s so embarrassing. He basically asked about the mechanics of gay sex, and wanted to know,” Kurt flushes as he sits down on the couch, and Blaine stares at him as he lowers himself on the cushion beside Kurt. “He wanted to know which of us is ‘in charge.’”
Blaine laughs. “That’s hilarious! What’d you tell him?”
“Nothing!” Kurt says quickly. “I mean, I don’t think either one of us is in charge exactly, but I wouldn’t tell him about that stuff anyway.”
Blaine pulls his legs up on to the couch to cross them, like he did in Kurt’s room months ago, and he leans forward. “You don’t think one of us is in charge?” he asks in a perplexed sort of way.
Kurt stares. “... No. Why, do you?”
Blaine ducks his head, blushing just a little. “Well, I kind of think you are.”
Kurt rears his head back before he can stop himself. “What? Really?”
“Yeah,” Blaine mutters, eyes still averted. “Like last night, when we were making out? You were totally in charge.” He looks up, and Kurt feels his mouth go dry at the memory, and at Blaine’s current heated expression.
“I was?” Kurt demands, feeling suddenly alarmed. “But that’s not right! You should say something if I’m being pushy or, or--”
“You weren’t being pushy, Kurt. You were just... like you said, in charge. It wasn't a bad thing, believe me. It was... hot. I liked it.”
Kurt’s mouth drops open. “You liked it?” he breathes.
Blaine nods, and a split second later they’re kissing enthusiastically, and holy shit, Kurt’s whimpering into it and scrambling to straddle Blaine’s waist on the couch. Blaine moans into Kurt’s mouth, placing his hands on Kurt’s hips and tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he groans. “Like that. So hot, Kurt.”
Kurt hums, rolling his hips down to get some contact with Blaine’s hips and trailing his mouth down Blaine’s jaw and throat. Blaine’s hands clench on Kurt’s hips.
“When I think about us doing more,” Blaine gasps, “I always picture you in charge.”
Kurt shudders into their kiss, overwhelmed by mental images of thrusting wildly into Blaine; doing it slow and gentle until it’s a slow burn of desperate want. Kurt has no idea where these fantasies are coming from. Just a few months ago he was uncomfortable with even the thought of having sex, and now he’s rolling his hips down into Blaine’s lap, where he can feel Blaine’s hard-on swelling with every move of his hips, and the strain of Blaine's throat with every swirl of his tongue on Blaine's skin.
Blaine arches up, keening high and so, so sexy, and gasps, "Yeah, yeah, Kurt."
Kurt moans and lets out a harsh breath next to Blaine's ear. Blaine surges up against Kurt's erection, groaning deeply.
Kurt shoves Blaine's shoulders down so that they're almost lying down. He leans in and curls his arms around Blaine's head, thrown back against the arm of the couch. He licks into Blaine's mouth and thrusts down, and Blaine cries out, hands gripping tightly to Kurt's hips. He shivers and lets out a long, low moan before collapsing back into the cushions, panting like he's run a marathon.
"Did you just--?" Kurt croaks, and Blaine opens his eyes blearily.
"Sorry," says Blaine meekly. "That was just--so intense."
He looks embarrassed, and Kurt realizes belatedly that Blaine's embarrassed he came so quickly. But that's not a problem at all.
"Hey, it's okay," says Kurt gently, moving one of his hands to stroke Blaine's hairline. "Don't be sorry."
Blaine shivers. "You haven't yet," he remarks, looking down at the still-present, and very much obvious, bulge in Kurt's pants.
Kurt smiles. "It won't take much," he says suggestively, and Blaine snakes a hand between their bodies, palms over Kurt's dick over his jeans twice before Kurt's arching his back and coming with a high moan of, "Blaine!"
Blaine's free hand scrabbles at the back of Kurt's neck to pull him back down and into a fervent kiss. Kurt kisses back, but with a bit less energy than before. His boyfriend just gave him an orgasm; he's allowed to be a little weak.
Blaine moves awkwardly all of a sudden, and Kurt realizes he's crushing him. He moves back but Blaine grabs his wrist. "Don't go away, just... let's just move a bit," and Kurt smiles and rearranges them so that they're still holding each other, but without the added difficulty breathing.
"Still think you're not in charge?" Blaine asks after a while of beautifully comfortable silence.
Kurt pushes his delighted, amused grin into Blaine's throat.
The possibilities of exploring these dynamics are endless. Kurt's a little breathless at the thought of them all.
~*~
So, as you can see, these are all very different. Some are unfinished, but I hate to see them fester in my 'Documents' folder, so hopefully you've gotten some enjoyment out of them.
Feedback is welcome, as always! ♥
For anyone curious, I'm working on my Kurt/Blaine bigbang (which will only be out in August), and on a Kurt/Blaine
help_japan offering for wordplay, both of which, now that I'm done with school, can be given my FULL attention. YAY!Also, I'm on Tumblr now (rockinhamburger.tumblr.com)!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 10:58 pm (UTC)You're a fantastic writer, hope to see more soon. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:08 pm (UTC)My favourite was Wouldn't have it any other way!!! I didn't realize it was a deleted scene until now and now I have to go read the full fic now, gahhh!!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:13 pm (UTC)I wanted to ask - do you mind if I borrow your pen pal idea? I fell in love with it IMMEDIATELY and absolutely adore it.
I have 3 pen pals and have written to them for absolutely years and the notion is so magical and perfect.
I'm aiming to write it over the Summer haitus because I finish my course then and have a MASSIVE break.
Feel free to say no though! You'd be credited MASSIVELY for the idea!!!
I can't wait to read more of your writing! :D
no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:17 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting! Hope your writing ventures go well!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:19 pm (UTC)plusssss...you have really good taste in music XD
no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:23 pm (UTC)“There is nothing about my life that requires a warning,” Olivia snaps back, shaking with suppressed anger. “I don’t owe you any explanations whatsoever. I don’t want your ignorance in my house. My parents are amazing, and I won’t have anyone implying otherwise.”
Daddy’s right. Screw Lane, screw them all. Her family’s awesome, and anyone who thinks otherwise is so not worth her time, or her tears.
My goodness. your writing. Also, also what will convince you to write that penpal au that is obviously beyond bamf and is begging, absolutely begging to be read by us Klainers? *flutters eyes* ^__^
pretty pretty pretty please?
no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:04 am (UTC)However,
Thank you so much for your kind words!!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:05 am (UTC)Thanks again, you're awesome!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:10 am (UTC)I heard about the Blaine bigbang a few days ago, actually, but I'm talking about the
Thanks for reading and commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-15 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:12 am (UTC)Thank you for the lovely words! ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:15 am (UTC)Dinner With The Andersons may just get expanded. We shall see :)
no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 02:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 03:18 am (UTC)I really appreciate your attempts to revive the story, though. It makes me want to write it, just for you.
Thanks for the awesome comment!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:26 am (UTC)Now that you're done with school, does this mean we get to talk more?! I MISS YOU.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:55 pm (UTC)YES WE GET TO TALK MORE!!! ♥
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Date: 2011-05-16 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 01:59 pm (UTC)LOVED IT!
More One shots please!
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Date: 2011-05-16 04:57 pm (UTC)omg, Darren looks so fucking fine in your icon. UNF.
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Date: 2011-05-16 02:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 05:01 pm (UTC)Hot sex is hot, and I'm very glad you thought the last one was!
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Date: 2011-05-16 03:08 pm (UTC)Anyway, loved it, congrat's on your writing!
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Date: 2011-05-16 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-16 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-17 04:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-05-17 11:58 am (UTC)I AM A HOT MESS THANKS TO YOU!!! These are all fantastic. I'm so sad that they're not getting continued but I totally understand how it is when plot bunnies hop back down the rabbit hole. Thanks so much for sharing them with us, anyway! <333
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Date: 2011-05-17 04:14 pm (UTC)HOT MESSES WOO! Thank YOU so much for reading them, and sharing your thoughts on them!
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Date: 2011-05-17 11:37 pm (UTC)Also Kurt would SO be in charge, once he got past his initial uncomfortability. I reckon when they first start doing physical stuff Blaine will ease him into it because, well, he has more experience, but once Kurt feels comfortable and realises what he wants he'll be alllllll over it. And SO in charge XD
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Date: 2011-05-30 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-24 04:15 am (UTC)All my love to you...