Gaily We Promenade (1/4)
Title: Gaily We Promenade
Author: Caroline-Shea
Rating: R (this part) for language; vague descriptions of sexytimes; frank discussion of sex
Spoilers: Up through 2.16
Word Count: ~6,500 (this part)
Summary: A series of vignettes that take place in May 2012; during the three week lead-up to the McKinley High School Senior Prom.
A/N: Adding to the comm's collection of prom!fic. For the purposes of this fic, I'm pretending that A) McKinley only has a senior prom and not a junior prom, B) the Gleeks are all in the same graduating class, and C) that Kurt transferred to McKinley but Blaine stayed at Dalton. Sadly, we do not have to pretend that the Lima City School District makes no mention of sexual orientation in its non-discrimination policy. (Their handbook is online, so I was able to verify that.) Please enjoyyy!!!
Gaily We Promenade
Three weeks out
Will has always believed that Principal Figgins is well-meaning at heart. A little misguided, perhaps, and slightly weak-willed, but ultimately Will has thought of him as a person who tries his best and genuinely cares about the students of McKinley.
There’s some evidence to the contrary - and in fact Will’s almost sure he’ll be changing his opinion when the first spring heat wave hits and the classrooms once again become stifling, suffocating saunas due to “the exorbitant costs of air conditioning,” - but Will’s greatest strength is his ability to believe the best about people.
It’s also his greatest failing.
And right now? He’s not sure what to make of the man sitting in front of him.
“Principal Figgins… I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying to me here. What it sounds like you’re saying is that you won’t even broach the issue with the Superintendent. Am I understanding that correctly?”
Principal Figgins sighs heavily. “William, please. You have already petitioned the school board and it has been made clear that the policy is to be enforced. I don’t see what”-
“But the Superintendent of the Lima City School District can overrule them.”
“William”-
“Can’t she?”
William, I am not going to phone the Superintendent and ask her if she will bend the rules just for the students of McKinley. And if we’re being honest, we both know that we are only talking about one student.”
It’s easier to say this if he’s staring at the clock on Figgins’ desk or the “inspirational” posters on his wall. He’s afraid of what he’ll say if he’s forced to look him in the eye.
“Yes,” says Will evenly. “We both know we’re talking about Kurt Hummel. But, Principal Figgins, don’t you think we owe it to him? He was chased out of this school because the adults who were supposed to protect him stood by and did nothing while he was bullied. It’s amazing to me that he even chose to come back. And since you asked: No - of course I wouldn’t ask her to bend the rules for McKinley. It’s the district’s policy itself that needs to change.”
Principal Figgins looks very alarmed by the direction in which this conversation is headed. “I don’t want to cause”-
But now that he’s started, Will can’t seem to stop, and he lets the words that have been stewing inside of him pour out in an angry, unabated deluge.
“And you could be wrong,” he continues sharply. “For all both of us know, you could be wrong. Maybe Kurt isn’t the only one. But if we keep the status quo, if we keep the same policies in place, if we keep letting the bullying slide - then it’s no wonder more students don’t feel comfortable coming out. They know that McKinley wouldn’t be a safe environment for them. Kurt Hummel is brave, Principal Figgins. He’s strong and confident and he has friends who care about him and a supportive, loving family at home. If he didn’t have those things, he’d still be in the closet. That makes me think that there are plenty of students who still are.”
Figgins narrows his eyes, making him appear suddenly sterner. “It’s not our job to coax students into accepting their sexuality, William. Our job is to educate them.”
“And how are we supposed to do that if they don’t feel safe? Or if they feel like they have to hide who they are?”
“Let’s not be dramatic”-
“And I’m sorry, but it is nothing short of disgraceful that the school district makes no mention of sexual orientation in its non-discrimination policy. I’ve been bringing it up to the school board for the past year and they keep coming up with reasons to delay the vote. But we should at least change that here. At this school. The school board can’t object if we go above and beyond the requirements - not if we choose to do it of our own accord. And if we do it, it might pave the way for other schools. It might”-
“William, it’s admirable that you want to help the children this way, but I’m not sure we should be making political statements of this nature”-
And that’s it. That’s really the problem here.
“They’re not children!” he shouts, his voice betraying all the frustration he’s experiencing. “I talk to them every day - and while it’s true that they still have a lot of life lessons ahead of them, they’re not children. I used to think you used that word because you felt protectively toward the students. But now I’m starting to think it’s just a way for you to convince yourself that their feelings aren’t as real as yours.”
Will tries to rein himself in. He’s getting combative, and that’s the best way to make sure nothing gets accomplished.
“I’m sorry. I’ve gotten off-topic. I think the non-discrimination policy should be expanded, but that’s for another time. Right now I’m talking about one person and one specific situation. Kurt Hummel is eighteen years old,” he says, looking steadily at Principal Figgins. “He’s not a child. He’s been an exemplary student. He helped the McKinley Glee Club place third at Nationals. He’s been dating his boyfriend - who attends a different school - for over a year. He’ll be graduating from McKinley in four weeks and all he wants is to take his boyfriend to his senior prom. I really don’t feel that’s asking too much.”
“I’m sorry, William. I really am. But in this specific situation you speak of, my hands really are”-
“Don’t tell me they’re tied,” says Will, his voice shaking with emotion. “I can see them on the desk in front of you. You can either use them to pick up the phone and call the Superintendent - or you can let them sit there. The choice is yours.”
There is a long, uncomfortable pause, during which the older man gives him a long, measuring look. When they finally break eye contact, Will sees Figgins’ eyes drop down to his desk, where his hands are folded together.
“I don’t think it would change anything even if I made the call. But I’ll consider it.”
There is a ring of finality to this statement that lets Will know the meeting is over.
“Please do,” he says finally, nodding his head awkwardly and pulling open the door. He steps out into the hallway - and stops short abruptly at the sight in front of him.
Kurt is leaning against the adjacent wall, obviously having been waiting for him to emerge from the office. The expression on his face - the wide-eyed hopefulness in those startlingly clear blue-green eyes - forcibly reminds him of the way he’d looked when Will had first met him. He’d been a small, chubby-cheeked, baby-faced boy then, and there is barely a trace of him left in the tall young man standing before him, with the high, angular cheekbones and the cool, direct gaze.
“Can I … ask how it went?” asks Kurt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, a nervous habit he’s never quite outgrown.
“It, uh… it went good,” says Will, attempting to sound positive. “He said he’ll consider calling and he seemed fairly, um, receptive.”
Kurt’s eyes sweep searchingly over his face, and Will knows he’s not fooling him for one minute.
“But just in case Principal Figgins… can’t call for whatever reason, there are other steps we can take. We could…” Will wracks his brain. “…write letters or - or start like a… Facebook group? You guys still do that, right? We can talk about it some more at glee club this afternoon.”
Kurt gives him a fond, sad smile and Will’s heart clenches at the realization that they will, in fact, try those things he’s mentioned and that those things will, in fact, make no difference whatsoever. But they’ll do them anyway - and it won’t be Will going through the motions, trying to make Kurt feel better. It will be Kurt indulging Will by going through the motions. Because no matter how often or how spectacularly he fails, Will always has to be able to say to himself that he tried.
“Sounds good,” says Kurt flatly. “I have to get going, I’m late for physics. I just stopped by to see if…” He trails off.
“Do you want me to write you a pass so you don’t get in trouble?” asks Will, digging through his pockets for his stack of late passes.
Kurt shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got my college acceptance letter and I’m out of here in a few weeks. What are they going to do at this point - tell me I can’t go to prom?” He’s clearly aiming for a self-deprecating tone, but it comes out sounding high-pitched and slightly helpless.
“Kurt, I”-
“No.” Kurt shrugs him off. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling bitchy today and that was - I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re trying and I know it’s hard and - and I really do appreciate it. I’ll see you in glee, Mr. Schu.”
“Kurt, wait”-
But with a quick flick of his bangs, and a sharp turn of the heel, Kurt has flounced out of the conversation and down the hallway, and Will’s heart sinks at the realization that four weeks will be just long enough for him to be a disappointment to Kurt one last time.
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Two weeks out
When Burt reaches his son’s room, he sees that the door is already slightly ajar. Pushing it open cautiously, he sees Kurt fluttering around the room, pulling out shirts and scarves from his overflowing closet and holding them up against the dark blue pants he’s obviously planning to wear tonight on his date with Blaine.
He raps his knuckles on the open door lightly. “Hey, kiddo. Mind if I come in?”
Kurt spares him a quick glance. “No. Is something wrong?” He holds two red shirts up side by side, spends a few seconds comparing them, and then casts them both on his bed with a despairing sigh.
Burt shakes his head slowly. “Nope. I just, uh… I feel like I didn’t get to see you much this week. Seems like you’re always off with your friends or with Blaine these days.”
His son’s eyes widen, the first traces of guilt creeping into his expression. “Dad, I’m”-
Burt waves his hand dismissively. “Relax, kiddo. As I dimly recall, that’s pretty normal behavior for eighteen year olds. I just wanted to - check in with you. See how you’re doing.”
Kurt raises a skeptical eyebrow at this, but seems to decide it’s worth playing along. “Everything’s fine, dad,” he says. “Grades are still good. Classes are still good. My friends are still good.”
“You and Blaine?”
His son stares very suspiciously at him, but Burt keeps his gaze level.
“Blaine and I are fine, dad. Is there… some specific reason you’re asking?”
Burt shrugs. “Just - with you two going to different colleges and everything. Have you talked about it? What you’re going to do?”
Kurt seems to relax a little at this. “Yeah. We have. We’ll be three hours driving distance from each other next year. And while that’s not ideal, we both think it’s doable. We’re going to try to make it work. Neither of us has unrealistic expectations. We know it’ll be hard, but”- Kurt shrugs. “-we both think it’s worth the effort.”
Burt nods. “Well, good. I’m happy for you,” he says automatically. He waits for his actual feelings about this development to surface inside of him - and after a few seconds, when none appear, the truth sinks in: Huh. I guess I really mean that.
“Thanks,” says Kurt, holding up a green shirt with gray stripes, eyeing it critically, and then setting it back on the bed.
“And glee club’s going well?”
“Yeah. Since Nationals is over, we’re just kind of… meeting for the sake of meeting. We sing. We spend time together. We’re mostly splitting up after the summer, so… I don’t know. It’s nice.”
Kurt picks up a shimmery silver shirt from a stack on his bed and makes a face at it. “Well, hello, 2009. What are you and why are you still in my closet?” He stares at the shirt for a few more seconds and then sighs. “Although I suppose if anyone understands what it’s like to overstay their welcome in the closet, it’s me.” He pats the shirt’s shoulder and sets it back on the bed. “Take your time. I’ll be sure to send up some helpful pamphlets.”
Burt bites back a laugh. God, he loves this kid. As much as he’ll miss his son in an abstract sense next year - as much as he’ll suffer the same anxieties experienced by any parent whose child grows up and moves away - in a way it’s the day-to-day things like this he’ll miss the most. Kurt’s sense of humor, the bizarre get-ups he puts on each day, his trademark facial expressions, and of course his smile - a smile that has been emerging significantly more often since he’s been dating Blaine.
But now Burt’s gotten off-track. “And the prom campaign?” he asks Kurt casually. “How’s that going?”
“Okay, I guess,” says Kurt absently. “We sent a few e-mails today, just to see if”-
And then realization dawns on him, as he snaps his eyes up to Burt’s. “I mean”-
“Yeah,” says Burt conversationally. “Interesting how I had to hear about this from Finn. Apparently the glee club’s been spending the last week writing letters and sending e-mails and making phone calls on my son’s behalf. You’d think my son might have clued me in on this, but”-
Kurt stares at him pleadingly. “Dad, I”-
“Kurt, why in the world would you not tell me about this? Did you think I wouldn’t think it was important? Did you think I wouldn’t help you? Hell, if I’d known earlier, I would have done everything - I could have threatened to sue, I could have spoken to” -
“Dad,” says Kurt loudly, cutting him off. “I - look - this is exactly why I didn’t tell you, okay? I mean, I know I should have told you, but I just...” He pauses, searching for the words. Burt has found himself at a loss for words around his son more times than he can count, so he waits patiently for Kurt to figure out what he wants to say.
“Okay,” Kurt says finally. “So here’s the thing. I know you’d do those things. I absolutely know that and I’m so, so grateful. But I just didn’t want this to be about that. I didn’t want to raise hell or - or ‘fight the good fight’ or shove our way in. I didn’t want to be ‘that gay guy whose dad threatened to sue the school district’ or ‘that kid whose dad threatened to take a flamethrower to the place.’” Kurt raises an accusatory eyebrow in Burt’s direction and Burt rolls his eyes.
“I mean, Rachel even offered to have her dads contact the ACLU and try to dredge up some support or media attention - but I told her no. Because the whole point of my taking Blaine to the prom is that I’d want to feel like every other kid. We just want to feel normal.”
Kurt lets out a low, frustrated sigh. “And apparently I’m still really naïve, but I honestly thought that if we did everything by the book… if we explained the situation and let them see that Blaine and I are real people - good people - with faces and names who just want to hold hands and slow dance on prom night like every other senior... I guess it’s stupid, but I thought they might change their minds.”
Burt swallows the lump that’s starting to form in his throat. “And…?”
“We’re going to keep trying this week. Glee club’s working on it.”
“Can’t you just get - I don’t know - Mercedes or someone to take Blaine?”
Kurt shrugs. “There’s basically no point. Unless I get the policy changed, we still wouldn’t be allowed to dance together. And you know the thing that really sucks about that? That rule’s really only enforced for guys. No one objects to that stupid faux-lesbian dancing girls do all the time.”
Burt blinks. “Huh?”
Kurt side-eyes him. “I keep forgetting you attended high school in the bronze age. Eh. It’s a thing girls do. Crawl all over each other on the dance floor with the sole intent of whipping teenage boys into a sexual frenzy. My point being that no one would protest that flagrant violation - but I can only imagine that if Blaine and I were to touch fingertips while dancing, some jerk on the hockey team would be running up to the chaperones, claiming they’d been traumatized by the hideous gays.”
“I see,” says Burt, even though he’s still kind of stuck on how apparently dances had changed a lot since the late 80s. “Well, hey. Uh… speaking of… lesbians.” Kurt raises an eyebrow in alarm. “Uh - aren’t those cheerleaders together? Don’t they want to go to prom?”
“Oh - you mean Brittany and Santana?”
“Yeah. Aren’t they a couple?”
Kurt looks thoughtful. “No. Nobody really knows for sure what happened. They were together, but then Brittany got into college”-
Burt gapes. “God, seriously?”
Kurt laughs. “On a dance scholarship, but yeah. She’s going to… I think it’s called East Carolina University? It’s nowhere near Ohio, anyway, and Santana’s going to college in state. She broke it off with Brittany after they got their acceptance letters, and Brittany’s just been… a mess, really. I know she asked Santana to go to the prom with her - just as friends, even - but Santana turned her down flat. That’s why Mercedes and I took Brittany out shopping last week. We were trying to cheer her up - although in my expert opinion, she’s beyond retail therapy. She’s inconsolable.”
“So it’s definitely just you that wants to bring”-
“Mm-hmm. Don’t worry, though. I’m used to it by now.”
And I guess Dalton doesn’t have a prom, huh?”
Kurt shakes his head. “No. Their sister school hosts one, but Blaine doesn’t know any of the girls well enough to be invited. And I certainly don’t.”
Burt sighs. “And so what happens if your campaign doesn’t work?”
Kurt picks up a pale blue scarf from the bed and skims his fingers along the edges of it, lightly tugging on a frayed thread. He determinedly avoids meeting his father’s questioning stare.
“Then I guess it doesn’t work,” he says flatly.
Burt’s eyes widen in disbelief. “No, kiddo,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s the point when I get involved. I should have been involved way before now. I”-
“No, dad.” He says it very quietly, but there’s no mistaking the conviction behind it.
“Kurt”-
His son meets his gaze at last, and Burt almost has to stifle a gasp. He looks so much like Kate right now. God, the color of his eyes - the long, lean lines of his posture - the slight tilt of his head - that same serene “Don’t-you-dare-worry-about-me,” expression that his wife had given him too many times to count over the years.
Burt’s never been one to analyze or overthink things. But all the same, he can’t help wondering how it’s possible for his son to resemble his mother so strongly right now, and how in this same moment Kurt has never looked more like a grown man.
“Dad, I’m moving away in three months. We’re both kidding ourselves if we think I won’t face problems at college because of - well, because of who I am. If I phone you or text you every time some jerk calls me a name or a drunken jackass writes something on my dorm room door, our cell phone bill will be astronomical. And I’ll be worrying you for nothing because you won’t be able to help. You can’t stop people from hating me and you can’t keep me from getting hurt -”
“Damn it, Kurt, that’s my job as a parent - to keep you from getting hurt.”
Kurt shakes his head and brushes back the bangs that have fallen into his eyes. “But dad, sooner or later, that has to be my job. I mean, yeah, things are definitely changing for the better, but people are still very homophobic, and I’m still very… homo.”
Burt shoots his son a dark look, but Kurt shrugs it off.
“What? It’s true, isn’t it? I’m not looking to throw a pity party - I’m just trying to be realistic. I might always get a few strange glances when I’m out in public. I might get turned down for a job because of how I look or sound. Depending on where I live, I might not be able to get married. And like it or not, you can’t fix those kinds of problems by sitting down for a stern chat with my principal.”
“Listen, Kurt. I - there’s already a lot of stuff I can’t help you with”-
His son looks shocked. “Dad, what? No - that’s not what I”-
Burt holds up a hand. “Just let me get this out, kiddo. Do you remember when we talked in the auditorium that time? You were upset about me and Finn and you sang that song?”
“Yeah.”
“And I said that I used to think about - you know - taking you to baseball games or talking about girls with you?”
Kurt looks wary. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Well, I know I didn’t say this at the time, but, uh - that kinda works both ways, ya know?”
His son’s face wrinkles in confusion. “I don’t understand…”
Burt sighs. “There are things I wish I could be for you, too. Like I wish I was someone who knew more about… singing. Or clothes. Or books. I was never much of a student, but I know you like to read. And I know you like politics. I never really… got into that.”
Kurt shakes his head, eyes wide. “Dad, I don’t care about”-
“Yeah, you do. That doesn’t mean you’d want me to change, and it doesn’t mean you love me any less - but tell me you wish I didn’t dress a little differently. Tell me you don’t wish you could say, ‘Hey, I just finished chapter four of War and Peace,’ and not have my eyes glaze over.”
“Dad”-
“I wish I was stronger, Kurt. Or I wish you thought I was. I wish you never felt like you had to keep stuff from me to protect me”-
Kurt gasps. “What?”
“- I know you didn’t tell me half of what happened to you at McKinley. I found out about the death threat by accident. You never would have told me on your own, and I know there are other things you still aren’t telling me”-
He sees Kurt flinch a little.
“But my point is - you’re right. You’ll face a lot of problems in your life, Kurt, and it kills me to know there’s not much I can do. I can’t change a whole society. I can’t fix rules or laws by myself. But I can fight for my kid to take a date to his prom like every other senior. I can’t guarantee I’ll win - but I want you to let me try. What do you say, kiddo?”
Kurt picks up a light purple scarf made out of a thin, gauzy material. Burt thinks it looks like something a ballerina might wear.
“Blaine’s father dresses nicely.”
Burt raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”
Kurt looks up at him with watery eyes. He lets go of the scarf and it floats gracefully down on top of the comforter. “I said,” he says, swallowing heavily, “that Blaine’s father dresses nicely. I’ve only ever seen him wearing business suits, but they’re very sharp. Stylish. Expertly tailored. And he’s very well-informed about politics. And he’s an avid reader; I’m sure he could talk to Blaine and I about War and Peace all evening.”
“Kurt”-
“And he doesn’t love Blaine. He just.. doesn't. When I’m around, he can barely look at Blaine. So whenever you start thinking that there are things you wish you could be for me… just do me a favor and stop those thoughts right in their tracks, okay?”
The expression on Kurt’s face is one Burt has only seen a handful of times: It is loving and tender and wistful - and it contains a good measure of bewildered gratitude.
Yeah. Burt knows this look. Goddammit, he hates this look.
He understands what this expressions means. At some point along the way, Kurt had decided that loving him must be a difficult and challenging thing for Burt to do.
The worst part is that other people seem to agree, judging from the way that his relatives and friends will sometimes shake their heads at Burt - usually after he’s been bragging about Kurt’s accomplishments - and say, ‘You’re such a wonderful parent’ or ‘Really, it’s just incredible the way you are with him.’
Burt’s never been the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he’s damn sure that other parents don’t get that kind of response when they brag about their kids. He hates that response; he hates that people act as though fulfilling the only parenting requirement that matters - loving your kid unconditionally - is lauded as some noble sacrifice on his part. Loving Kurt is the easiest thing he’s ever done; it’s as natural and as necessary to his survival as breathing.
The look Burt sees on his son’s face tells him that Kurt understands that not every parent loves their child, and that being gay often factors into that. And if Burt can bring himself to resent Blaine for anything, it’s for the fact that Kurt has seen evidence of these emotionally distant, judgmental parents - and that his son now considers it a lucky thing that he’s loved and respected the way he is.
“I love you,” he tells Kurt - and he hadn’t really meant to say that just then, but so what? It’s always true.
Kurt’s face falls into a relaxed grin. “I love you, too. And - um - Dad? About prom?”
Burt raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“I meant what I said about not wanting to make a big scene.”
“I know,” says Burt. “I get that, kiddo - I won’t do anything without your permission. But I really would like to help.”
“How are your envelope-licking skills?” asks Kurt.
“A little rusty,” admits Burt. “But I’ll do my best.”
“You always do,” says Kurt, shaking his head fondly just as the doorbell rings. Kurt gasps in horror. “Oh, crap - that’s Blaine! And I never decided…” He glances down at the bed, quickly selects an emerald green cardigan, and disappears into his walk-in closet.
Burt stares after him suspiciously. “Is that a men’s sweater?”
“Fashion has no gender, Dad!” comes the reply from behind the door.
Burt rolls his eyes as he walks down the stairs to let Blaine in. He tries to be understanding; he really does, but…
…does it make him a terrible father if he admits he really hopes Kurt doesn’t wear a tiara to the prom?
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“Okay… how does this sound? Dear Mr. Santiago…”
“Mm-hmm.”
“…my name is Kurt Hummel, and I’m writing to you with regard to…the…Lima City School District’s policy regarding same-s-sex couples at school f-functions…”
“Mm-hmm.”
“My boyfriend and I are - ohh - a loving couple who s-see nothing thre- threatening or inappropriate about our relationshiiiip...” Kurt ends the sentence on a whine and throws the letter over the side of the bed. “…and I’m thinking that sentence might have sounded better if you - nngh - weren’t going down on me right now, Blaine…”
“Mmm…”
Kurt groans and lets himself collapse backward onto Blaine’s bed. “No doubt Mr. Santiago would find this…uhh... highly inappropriate.”
“Mm-hmm…”
“You know, I didn’t used to be a- able to talk during this. So clearly your skills have - oh - oh my god, what are you - ? Oh…oh… oohh… ngh..”
And after that point, Kurt doesn’t really have anything substantive to add to the conversation - at least for the next ten minutes or so.
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“I hate you,” Kurt mutters into his boyfriend’s shoulder.
“You love me,” Blaine informs him, pulling Kurt even tighter against him.
Kurt sighs. “Yeah, that, too.”
Blaine brushes Kurt’s bangs back and kisses his forehead. “So I take it from your attempted letter-reading that you’re still fighting the prom battle, huh?”
“Very much so.” Kurt skims his fingers across the bare skin of his boyfriend’s chest. “And it’s going about as well as I thought it would.”
“You know that I’m okay either way, right? I mean, it matters to me - because it matters to you - but I won’t be heartbroken if we don’t get to go. Dalton doesn’t have a prom, so I never really thought I’d be attending one.”
Kurt hooks his leg over Blaine’s ankle, bringing them as close together as he possibly can. He tilts his head, capturing his boyfriend’s mouth in a soft kiss. “Didn’t you ever dream about it, though? The lights…” Another kiss. “…the music…” Another one. “…slow dancing…”
Blaine shrugs. “Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll gladly go with you. But I always thought it was kind of a heterosexual cliché. Basically an excuse for people to drop hundreds of dollars on clothes they’ll never wear again and a last-ditch effort to lose your virginity before graduating high school.”
Kurt waits impatiently for Blaine to finish and then kisses him again. “Well, that’s too bad,” he says quietly against Blaine’s mouth. “Because I was kind of thinking we could lose our virginity on prom night. But hey, if you hate clichés…”
“Well, I don’t hate them, I just…” And then realization hits. “Wait - what? Oh my god, Kurt! Are you serious?”
Kurt shrugs, trying not to smile. “Yes. But really, you’re right, Blaine - it’s all just a big hetero cliché, and I would hate to make you participate in”-
“What - no!” says Blaine, his eyes widening. “I love cliches! I’ve always thought there was something so sweet and, um, wholesome about them. Really, they’re adorable!”
Kurt raises a critical eyebrow. “Are they now?”
Blaine frowns suddenly. “Okay, you do that know that I’m not interested in having sex if I’m the only one interested in having sex?”
Kurt laughs. “I know. I’m just teasing you. Trust me - I am very interested in having sex with you. I’m kind of amazed that it’s been over a year and we still haven’t."
“It’s not that surprising. We only get to see each other on weekends, and when we do see each other we’re either at home with our parents or we’re somewhere public. The mall. The movies.”
“Hey,” says Kurt with mock severity, “we have made some lovely memories in the back of movie theatres.”
Blaine grins. “Yeah, well, a hand job we can get away with. I would assume penetrative sex is probably more difficult to conceal.”
“Hopefully. If we’re doing it right.”
“Anyway,” says Blaine. “We seem to have gotten off-track. Where was I?”
Kurt nips gently at Blaine’s jaw. “You were telling me how sweet and wholesome it will be to fuck me in the ass.”
Blaine pulls back from Kurt. “Wait - wait… who said you were going to be the one getting”-
Kurt groans in frustration. “No, Blaine. No, no, no. We are not having this discussion again!”
“I’m serious, Kurt.”
“So am I.”
Kurt’s tempted to throw a pillow at his boyfriend; he seriously is. This will be the fourth time they’re having this discussion. And here’s the thing: It’s not that Kurt has any actual experience in this realm, but he’s pretty sure Blaine’s more of a top than he is. When Kurt fantasizes about having sex - which is admittedly often - he usually imagines himself being fucked by Blaine. (Okay, and sometimes by Daniel Radcliffe. But mostly by Blaine.)
And judging from the other sexual activities they’ve indulged in, Blaine likes to physically be on top. He likes the control; likes spreading Kurt out - and pinning him down - and Kurt just finds that unbearably hot.
So, while he may not understand everything about bedroom dynamics, it seems like an obvious enough place to start, right?
But no. Blaine is insisting that Kurt fuck him.
Kurt is fairly sure that this is Blaine’s ridiculous idea of chivalry - “I cannot stand the idea of hurting you, my delicate flower!” - and really, just who does Blaine think he is? Kurt spent most of middle school and high school being shoved into lockers and thrown into dumpsters and tripped in the hallways on a daily basis. And he’s done enough research - yes, he’s read the damn pamphlets - to know that there are ways to minimize the pain of sex. He knows Blaine will be as gentle as he can be, he knows that Blaine will stop if he asks him to, and in general Kurt’s just more comfortable with the idea of receiving.
But his boyfriend won’t hear of it. And so the debate rages.
“Kurt, I’m telling you”-
Kurt bristles. “Oh, so now you’re telling me?”
Blaine backs away from that statement hastily. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying I’d prefer to bottom the first time.”
“Yes, Blaine. Like the last forty-three times you’ve told me, I hear you. And I’m saying that I’d prefer the opposite.”
“But… I’d really prefer it.” And Blaine says it so plaintively that Kurt lets himself consider something for the very first time.
“Blaine,” he says cautiously, “when you say that you’d prefer it that way the first time… do you just mean the first time? Or would you want to top eventually?”
His boyfriend tilts his head up, his dark curls falling into his face as he considers the question. He bites his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says finally.
Kurt’s heart sinks a little. “And when you think about us having sex, like in your fantasies,” he says. “How do you - uh - how are we?”
A slight flush appears on his boyfriend’s gorgeous face. “Um… I’m on top, usually. But you’re, uh, inside me. If that’s what you’re asking.”
Kurt lets the moment hang between them for a few seconds. He’s so stunned that he can barely choke out the next sentence. “Oh my god, Blaine. Are we - are we really both bottoms?”
Blaine laughs. “I guess it’s possible.”
Kurt groans. “Talk about star-crossed.”
“Well, to be fair, we don’t really know what we are yet. And most guys do switch, even if they tend to favor one position over the other.”
“But… but what do we do now?” whines Kurt. “Now that I know you’re serious about this”-
Blaine disentangles himself from Kurt’s arms, turns over onto his stomach, and reaches over to his right to rummage in the drawer of his nightstand.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting something from my nightstand,” says Blaine helpfully.
“Gee, thanks,” mutters Kurt. “And what might that something be?” He can hear several objects rattling around in the drawer.
“Something that will help us with our problem.”
Kurt lets out a small squeak. “Is it some type of … sex toy? Or - oh - Blaine, are you getting a condom?”
“Nope.”
Kurt, who had been lounging on the bed, shifts impatiently into a sitting position. “Okay, so what - ?”
“We’ve tried discussing it. We’ve tried arguing about it. We’ve tried reasoning it out. We’ve tried debating it. And I think it’s time that we stopped talking altogether and just - oh, here we go.” And Blaine shuts the drawer, with his left hand closed tightly around an object.
Kurt blinks in confusion as Blaine extends his arm, palm upward, toward Kurt and then opens his hand to reveal-
“Oh… no. Forget it, Blaine. No.”
“Kurt”-
“Blaine Anderson!” hisses Kurt. “We are not flipping a damn coin to see which one of us… it’s ridiculous!”
Blaine stares patiently at Kurt. “Why?”
“Because… because…” he splutters. He looks at Blaine, then looks down at the coin. Then he looks back up at Blaine, who is giving Kurt his notorious, ‘You-know-I’m-right-about-this’ expression.
“Do you have a better idea?” asks Blaine, in an infuriatingly reasonable tone.
Kurt closes his eyes. When he opens them, Blaine is still sitting across from him, wide-eyed and hopeful, with a dime resting innocently in the middle of his outstretched palm.
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this!” wails Kurt.
Blaine grins. “Awesome. Okay, I’ll flip it and whichever one I land on is the position that I’ll”-
“Wait - wait. How do we know what means what?”
Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Seriously - just think about it for a second, Kurt. Heads. Tails. This game couldn’t be more suited to the question at hand.”
Kurt blinks. “Oh my god, that’s - wow… I’ll never be able to look at a coin toss the same way.”
“Okay,” says Blaine, inhaling sharply. “So if it lands on heads, that means I’ll… you know...”
“Fuck me?” supplies Kurt helpfully.
Blaine throws him a dark look. “Yes. And if it’s tails, you’ll fuck me. Sound fair?”
Kurt nods. “If you tell anyone this story ever, I will kill you. But yes. Very fair.”
Blaine flips the coin. It lands anti-climactically on the comforter, between the two boys, and they both lean in and peer down to see…
“Tails,” breathes out Blaine.
Kurt swallows nervously. “Tails it is.”
Blaine rubs a soothing hand across Kurt’s knee. “You know we don’t have to do this, right? It’s just - if we’re going to - I mean, one of us has to”-
“I know one of us has to,” snaps Kurt. “I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” He softens at Blaine’s hurt look. “And yes. Yes, I want to. On prom night.”
“What if we don’t get to go to the prom?” asks Blaine.
Kurt considers this. “I think we probably won’t get to go to the prom,” he admits. “But I think we should still get dressed up. And I think we should get a hotel room and drink sparkling cider and give each other corsages and give each other…”
“…each other?”
“That’s horribly cheesy, but yes.”
Blaine stares at Kurt carefully. “And you’re sure you’d rather do that than, like, stage a sit-in or a protest or…”
Kurt nods. “Yeah. As much as I hate the policy, I don’t want to do anything that would ruin the prom for my friends. They deserve to have a perfect night, too. And - you know - it might almost work better if we don’t make a scene. Like maybe someone will think, ‘Oh, that sucks. That guy didn’t get to go to his prom. Someone should really do something about that.’ And then… maybe someone will do something about that.”
Blaine nods. “I get that.”
Kurt shoots Blaine a sideways grin. “Besides which, I really can’t think of a better ‘fuck you’ to the Lima City School District. You won’t let us go to prom? Too bad. We’ll spend the evening having lots and lots of gay sex.”
Blaine smiles at that thought as he lies back down on the bed, curling himself around Kurt. Kurt shivers slightly at the feel of his boyfriend’s breath against his ear.
“I think we’ll get there, Kurt,” he whispers, almost as if to himself. “I think we’ll make it.”
Kurt twists himself around to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. “You mean the prom?”
Blaine leans forward, and Kurt barely catches the word before Blaine’s mouth is on his:
“No.”
TO BE CONT’d…