Glee fic: Hear There's Lots of Plundering (Down in Ohio), Blaine/Kurt
Title: Hear There's Lots of Plundering (Down in Ohio)
Author: escritoireazul
Written for: sotto_voice, who loves marching band aus and who has become my Glee hero by agreeing to screen season three's episodes for me so I don't accidentally see them do something horrible to my girl and then have to break things. (NO. I DO NOT WANT SPOILERS. I AM FRUSTRATED ENOUGH AS IT IS.) Also, because Lexie apparently reads my freaking mind, OH GOD.
Author's note: This is a transformative work of fiction for the television series Glee. It is a marching band au and almost all the glee club are juniors, with a few exceptions. I'm going to assume you know the one song that appears, but here's a link to the other: The Arrogant Worms "The Last Saskatchewan Pirate" (cover, I think) (complete with a Goonies/Pirates of the Caribbean music vid for you right there, because crossovers are awesome).
Series: The Marching Band Refused to Yield Story Seven
Characters/Pairings: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Quinn Fabray, Mercedes Jones, Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman, Lauren Zizes, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike Chang, Sam Evans, Wes, David, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Lauren Zizes/Noah Puckerman
Rating: 13+
Word count: 4500+
Summary: So maybe he's a ridiculous puppy dog who breaks out into song and dance at inopportune moments. Some people -- Kurt people, he hopes -- like that in a boy.
1.
Monday at lunch, Blaine’s just about to sit down at the table with Kurt when he sees Tina and Lauren walk in together. He puts down his tray and waves at them; Kurt grabs his wrist before he catches their attention.
“Don’t.”
Kurt’s touch is distracting; his hands are soft and smooth, his nails always neat, and Blaine worries that he will feel the way Blaine’s pulse leaps when Kurt’s thumb rubs the inside of his wrist.
“Why--” Blaine has to stop, clear his throat, and try again so his voice won’t crack. “Why not?”
Kurt looks up at him, and Blaine’s chest tightens. He can’t breathe, but it’s a wonderful feeling, his attention all for Kurt, his body swaying imperceptibly closer. For a moment, even his curiosity fades under the intensity of Kurt’s gaze, pretty eyes framed by dark lashes. Then Kurt glances beyond him, and the moment is gone.
“I’ll tell you later.” His voice is low, and he nods to where Mercedes and Quinn are walking toward them. Mercedes smiles when she looks up, but Quinn’s expression is blank.
Blaine frowns and looks back down at Kurt. He opens his mouth, but Kurt shakes his head. “Later,” he promises, and squeezes Blaine’s wrist, tugging at his arm lightly. Blaine takes the hint and sits, close enough his arm will brush against Kurt’s when he reaches for his drink.
Kurt holds his wrist a moment more, his thumb circling lightly over the thin skin of Blaine’s wrist. When he lets go, Blaine’s skin burns with the loss.
2.
Between rehearsals and Kurt spending all his time with Mercedes and Quinn, Blaine doesn’t get a chance to be alone with him until after school on Wednesday. No rehearsals are scheduled, and Mercedes and Quinn are doing something at Mercedes’ church. He’d be fine with joining them, even though religion isn’t a huge part of his life - his dad’s a Christmas and Easter Catholic and his mom has a deeply personal combination of beliefs that trace all the way back to her childhood in the Philippines, but she believes in individual practice of religion and has never forced Blaine into any specific way to practice - but Kurt has zero interest in going with them.
Blaine catches up with Kurt at his locker after last period. Kurt’s checking his hair in the mirror stuck to the inside of the door; it’s surrounded by pictures of his friends, many from band camp.
Many from band camp that include Blaine.
He slumps against the locker next to Kurt’s, his hands tucked into his jean pockets so he won’t clasp them to his chest. He just hopes he’s not gazing at Kurt with hearts in his eyes, all soft and mooning.
Kurt finishes with his hair and slings his fashionable shoulder bag across his body. It’s black with a subtle black silk pattern swirled on the front; it’s almost impossible to see until the light hits it just right.
Finally, Kurt turns to him with a smile, and Blaine beams back. So much for subtle.
“Lima Bean?” he asks, straightening away from the lockers.
“Sounds good.” Kurt checks his hair once more, then shuts his locker. “Want me to drive?”
Blaine shrugs his bag higher. “Please.” He bumps the back of his hand against Kurt’s, but doesn’t reach out and lace their fingers together, no matter how much he wants to walk down the halls holding his hand. He wants that with his boyfriend, and that’s not what they are.
Not yet? He hopes.
But this is nice, too, walking companionably together out to the parking lot.
#
The Lima Bean is filling up fast. “It’s my turn to buy. Why don’t you get us a table?” Blaine suggests.
“Didn’t you buy last time?” Kurt asks.
Blaine shrugs and leans into Kurt a little, offering his most charming smile. “Let me get our drinks. You find a nice, quiet table. You promised me answers.”
For a second, Kurt’s calm mask slips, and the face he pulls is epic, but then it’s gone. “Fine. I’d like a….”
They say it together, “grande nonfat mocha.”
Kurt’s eyes shine. “You know my order?”
“Of course I do. Now let me get in line. I need my caffeine.” Blaine holds his arms out and steps jerkily toward the line. “Caaaaaffeeeeeeeeine.”
“I don’t know you,” Kurt says, then a little louder as he moves away, “I don’t know him.”
The line moves quickly despite its length. The baristas here really know their stuff. Blaine gets Kurt’s order and his own medium drip, and then, at the last second, one of the big chocolate chip cookies. The sign says they’re fresh from the oven, and it is still pretty warm when the barista hands it over. He knows better than to think Kurt will split it with him, but maybe he’ll accept a bite or two at least.
It takes him a second to find Kurt when he’s done; Kurt managed to grab a table in the far corner, and he’s sitting with his back to the wall. He’s half turned away from Blaine, and when Blaine gets closer, he realizes that Kurt is quickly texting something. By the time Blaine reaches him and sets their coffees on the table, though, he’s putting away his phone.
Blaine puts the plate with the cookie in the very center of the table and with one foot nudges his chair closer to Kurt. He doesn’t mind having his back to the room, but a private conversation is a good excuse to sit near him.
Kurt takes a tentative sip of his mocha; Blaine breaks off a piece of the cookie and pops it into his mouth, savoring the sweet taste of chocolate. Finally, Kurt sets down his cup and wraps his hands around it. Blaine’s struck by the way his fingers curve.
“What do you want to know?”
Do you think about kissing me as often as I think about kissing you?
What Blaine says instead is, “I know something happened. Everyone is tense all the time, Quinn hasn’t said three words this week, and Tina and Lauren haven’t been around. What’s going on?”
“Lauren hooked up with Noah Puckerman, and Tina took her side.”
Blaine frowns, trying to place the name. “Oh, that drummer with the mohawk?” At Kurt’s nod, his frown deepens. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Quinn and Puck,” he hesitates, “used to date.”
“Okay.” Blaine drags it out a little and then lets the silence build, because he doesn’t really get it. Kurt doesn’t bite, though, and finally Blaine gives up. “Why’s that a big deal? Back at Dalton, all the guys dated each other’s exes.”
Kurt eyes him. “Is Dalton … were they all gay?”
“What?” But then he gets it and laughs a little. “Oh, no. Well, some were, like me, but not all. Not even most. We had a sister school with whom we did activities, dances and cross-school projects, things like that. A lot of the guys dated girls from there. Small dating pool, lots of cross dating, dating someone your friend has dated. See?”
“This is different.” Kurt frowns and looks down at his hands wrapped around his coffee cup. Blaine takes another drink and leans forward a little, waiting. This time, his silence works, and Kurt starts to speak again, though he doesn’t look, and his voice is so low Blaine has to scoot even closer to hear him. “Quinn got pregnant last year. It was Puck’s.”
“Oh.” Blaine sets down his cup, surprised. “I didn’t know.” It’s an inane thing to say, because of course he didn’t know. One corner of Kurt’s mouth turns up.
“No, we don’t talk about it much. Quinn doesn’t want to talk about it much.”
“Did she,” Blaine hesitates, “end the pregnancy?”
Kurt shakes his head. “No. There was a lot of tension over that.” He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully, noticeable pauses throughout. “But she decided to put it up for adoption. Her. Beth. Puck wanted to name her Beth.” He sighs, takes a long drink, and props his cheek on one hand, looking at Blaine at last. It’s impossible, but Blaine swears there are shadows under his eyes where there weren’t before, as if just thinking about it has exhausted him. “So it’s not just about hooking up with your friend’s ex. Things were really horrible last year.” He stops again, then gives his head a little shake. “Lauren betrayed Quinn. Betrayed us. And Tina … Tina hates Puck. I can’t believe she approves of this.”
Blaine gives himself a moment by eating another bit of cookie and washing it down with a slow drink. When he speaks, he’s careful to keep his voice non-judgmental, quiet and easy. “So you’re going to let a romantic relationship come between your friendships?”
Gentle as he is, Kurt still frowns and straightens, his shoulders sharply squared, his posture perfect. “Lauren is doing that. She chose him over us. You weren’t here, you can’t understand.”
“I wasn’t here,” Blaine agrees. He reaches out, his movements slow, and places his hand on Kurt’s arm. “But I know how people can make mistakes, especially when they’re twisted up with love.”
Kurt makes a noise of disbelief. It’s almost a snort, except that’s not really a sound Kurt would make. “She doesn’t love him. She barely knows him.”
Blaine raises his eyebrows a little and rubs his fingers along Kurt’s arm in slow strokes he hopes are soothing. “They must spend a lot of time together because of the drumline.”
“So?” But Kurt doesn’t sound quite so sure of himself. He hesitates, quiet and still, then presses his lips together into a tight line for a second. “It doesn’t matter. She knows what she did was wrong, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept it a secret from Quinn.”
“I hate to see your friendships end because of this.” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s arm once and lets go, reaching for his coffee. “You were all so friendly to me when I was the new kid, so welcoming.”
“You’re still the new kid.” But Kurt laughs a little, and Blaine smiles, pleased with himself. Then Kurt really surprises him. “It won’t end.”
“But - but you’re so mad, you won’t even talk to them.”
Somehow, Kurt makes lifting one shoulder into a half shrug look elegant. “Yeah, we’re mad. Mercedes is absolutely pissed. She’s not a fighter, but she almost threw down with Lauren when she found out. Still.” He sighs. “We’ll be mad awhile - and we absolutely have the right to be mad. Quinn has the right to be mad - but eventually we’ll make up. We always do.”
“There have been other fights over boys?” Blaine sips his coffee, wondering if any of those boys were for Kurt.
“No. We all have very different tastes.” Then his mouth twists into a moue. “Well, most of us. But we have fought before, we’ve made mistakes before. All of us. Big ones. And we forgive each other eventually.”
It sounds like there is still a lot Blaine doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to push too far into unhappy subjects. Kurt takes a drink, and there’s a bit of mocha left on his lower lip after; his tongue darts out, catching the drop, and Blaine can’t stop staring.
Kurt’s cheeks turn lightly pink, and he picks a tiny piece, more like a crumb, from the cookie Blaine bought for him, his gift of sweets to share.
He is inordinately pleased.
3.
Nothing changes the rest of the week. Kurt and Mercedes flank Quinn in the halls, sit with her at lunch, spend time with her after school. Blaine joins them sometimes, but he keeps quiet about what he knows.
He does watch her still, and the little things he’d missed before start to make sense, the way she touches her stomach, the way she stares at the cheerleaders in their little skirts and tight shirts, so much skin bared.
Mostly, though, Blaine watches Kurt, listens to Kurt, learns about Kurt. And the more he learns about this loyal, protective, fashionable boy, the more he wants to know.
#
Though they’ve only been in school a couple weeks, the next weekend is a three day weekend, because Monday is some teacher work day or something. Blaine doesn’t understand them; Dalton never had one, but he vaguely remembers something like that from before. Back then, he was young enough - and after he came out, miserable enough - all he cared about was a day away from his classmates, and he didn’t much care why.
The marching band doesn’t get a three day weekend, though. They may not have class, but Mr. Schuester scheduled an all-day rehearsal, a mini band camp. They have two songs solidly on the field, and the third one halfway on the field, but their first home football game is coming up on Friday, and Mr. Schuester wants at least three good songs ready to go, plus pre-game.
Mr. Schuester is kind of an optimist.
It’s hot for mid-September in Ohio. It’d be hot for August in Ohio. It’s bad enough that Blaine was sweating in the car on the way to the practice field even with the air conditioner on, but now, after half a morning of marching, he’s pretty sure he’s sweated out all the water in his body, and he’s about to shrivel up into a dehydrated prune. Which is, he realizes, sort of redundant. That’s how dried up his brain has become.
The worst part about this all-day practice is that Blaine can’t even argue that they don’t need it, because they do. Maybe it’s normal for a band to not have their entire show on the field two weeks into the school year, but he can’t quite shake the memory of Carmel’s terrifying perfection, and that trumpet solo.
During their mid-morning break, Blaine watches as some of the band - mostly the guys in drumline and low brass -- pour cold water over their heads. He considers it, but after a second, decides that might just make it worse, because the chill of it would only last so long and then it would just add to the oppressive, muggy warmth that makes the air thick in his lungs. Plus it would ruin the gel in his hair, drip it down his face, and as much as he likes the way the gel keeps his hair under control, it stings his eyes and tastes horrible, so that would suck.
It’s not a bad idea, though, cooling off from the head down. He just needs to modify it. There’s plenty of sunscreen around -- between Quinn and Kurt, they have four bottles with four different spfs -- so he peels off his t-shirt.
Kurt chokes on a drink of water, coughing and spluttering quietly, trying to hide it by covering his mouth with one hand, and Blaine is suddenly nervous.
He’s pretty hairy, and dark, curly hair spreads across his chest and down his stomach. He’s never really been that self-conscious about it -- hair is hair, whatever, and he thinks guys are hot with or without it -- but Kurt is particular, and since he’s not yet figured out what Kurt’s type is, exactly -- there’s still hope that it’s slightly shorter guys with curly hair who leap up onto things a lot because they have too much energy and who spill far too personal secrets over coffee and who think the sound of Kurt’s piccolo is beautiful -- he’s struck by worry about what Kurt will think.
“Take it off!” Mercedes cheers and whoops it up a little. She knows how to make her voice carry when she wants to, and Blaine is glad for all that sun on his face, because he’s flushed and sweaty with embarrassment, but at least he has an excuse. “Didn’t know you signed us up for a strip-tease, Kurt!”
Kurt ducks his head, staring intently down at his water bottle as he twists the cap closed. It’s hard to tell if his cheeks are pink or if that’s just too much sun. Blaine has a half-empty bottle of water that is too warm to drink - he likes his water nearly frozen, so it makes his teeth ache and his tongue numb - but still cooler than the air.
He wets his shirt and twists it into a rope as best he can, then wraps it around his head. It’s cool against his forehead and a bit of water drips down the back of his neck, making him shiver a little despite the heat.
Mr. Schuester calls an end to the break, and the people slumped in the little shade there is to be had haul themselves to their feet. Everyone’s slower dragging themselves onto the field, even the drumline and the color guard, who are usually the first in their places. Blaine slips the wide strap of his bari sax over his head and braces himself for the weight of it.
“Let’s take it from the top,” Mr. Schuester says, his voice echoing from the speakers faced toward the field. He’s standing in the crow’s nest, a baseball cap shading his eyes, and his optimism seems to have faded a little. Not much, though. “All the way through all three songs. You can do this, guys.”
Blaine finds his spot. His body hurts, and his lips are starting to chap. He still doesn’t really understand why his new friends love marching band the way they do - why they all love it, because they’re here, on their day off, working hard - but he does feel a flutter of excitement. Maybe Mr. Schuester is right. Maybe they can do this.
Wes calls them to attention, and Blaine clears his head, focusing only on each step, each note, each spot he’s to hit on the field.
#
When they break for lunch, Kurt comes up while Blaine is still putting away his sax. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright, but they have been marching a long time and it is very hot out. Maybe it’s just that.
Maybe Kurt’s eyes flick down to where Blaine’s pants are slipping low on his hips. With the sunglasses, it’s hard to tell.
Blaine hopes he did.
“Why in the world are you wearing your shirt like that?” He taps his flute case against his thigh. Before Blaine can even begin to explain his logic, Kurt continues. “Did you overdose on pirate movies again?”
His eyebrows raise, and he can feel the grin start to break across his face. Blaine carefully shuts his case, sets it on the ground, and then leaps onto the bleachers - during band camp, he was surprised to see their practice field had metal bleachers, small, nothing at all like the high school, until Finn told him peewee football and junior cheerleading play games there on Saturdays - and breaks into song. He doesn’t even care that he starts toward the end, because it’s his favorite part and he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt even though that makes it kind of hard to sing.
“Well the pirate life’s appealing but you don’t just find it here. I hear in North Alberta there’s a band of buccaneers. They roam the Athabasca from Smith to Fort McKay, and you’re gonna lose your Stetson if you have to pass their waaaaaaaaaaaaaay.” He drags it out a little, leaping up onto the next bench and spinning around. The end of his shirt, where it’s tied off at the back of his head, swings out away from him.
Kurt’s mouth is open in this perfect, wide little “o,” his lips very pink, and Blaine really, really wants to kiss him, wants to slide his tongue across Kurt’s lower lip and suck it into his mouth and explore his teeth and tongue. Wants to know how he tastes, this beautiful boy.
He shimmies his way along the bench like it’s a plank.
“Well winter is a coming and a chill is in the breeze. My pirate days are over once the river starts to freeze. But I’ll be back in spring time and now I have to go, I hear there’s lots of plundering down in Ohio.” It's the wrong state, but he thinks it fits and doesn't mind improvising.
Blaine dramatically leaps off the bench, clearing the first one entirely to land on the ground. He clutches his hands to his chest and spins around again, coming to a stop in front of Kurt. Kurt who is still staring, his eyes wide.
Is it the good kind of staring? He can’t tell, but he hopes. Instead of doing something incredibly stupid like asking, he snaps his heels together and executes a perfect formal bow.
Kurt shakes his head a little, and when Blaine straightens, he realizes Kurt’s not the only one staring. Almost the entire band is as well. His cheeks heat a little, because they’re not supposed to watch him flirt. Surely they’re not, surely it’s the song and dance that drew them in. That, he understands.
When he’s performing, he’s free.
“What the hell was that, dude?”
Oh, wow. Wow. Even Noah Puckerman has made his way closer - even Lauren has, neither of them with their drums -- watching him, staring at him. He can't tell if Noah hated it or thought it was awesome. Blaine looks back to Kurt, and it’s like the sun has gone, his face shut down, anger darkening his expression. If Blaine doesn’t do something fast, Kurt is going to tear into them, and though he thinks Kurt is one of the sweetest, bravest, strongest, best guys he’s ever met, he can be vicious, too. Blaine’s pretty sure he’s never heard the sharpest side of Kurt’s tongue - god, no, don’t think about his tongue, and Blaine shifts his weight - and he doesn’t want to do so now.
Instead he jumps up onto the bleachers again.
“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.”
His voice rings out, clear and loud, and for a moment, he’s all by himself, and he’s certain he’s failed.
But then Finn laughs and lurches up onto the bleachers too, slinging his arm across Blaine’s shoulder - for a second only, before he drops it and steps away - and starts singing and dancing too, though he stumbles over a couple of the words and his dancing is really swaying back and forth. One of the other saxes, Sam, joins them, spinning around and rocking onto his toes, his blonde hair flopping over his forehead.
Mike Chang doesn’t join in the singing, but he leaps up the bleachers, one two three four and suddenly he’s at the top, and Blaine spins around to watch as he dances, pops and locks and grabbing the top bar, using it for leverage as he moves.
Then suddenly there’s a mob, most of them on the track that circles the practice field, but some of them, juniors and seniors, up on the bleachers, singing and dancing together. It doesn’t matter that they’re tired and hot and sweaty. It doesn’t matter that they’re wasting their lunch break and they’ll have less than two hours to scarf down food and get back.
What matters is their laughter and the song rising up through them, their bodies moving as best they can. What matters is how different this is from Dalton, where “flash mob” really meant genteel gentlemen performing songs in perfect harmony. Yes, they were rockstars, his Warblers - not his anymore, and he’s shocked to realize that marching band is filling all those places inside him, where the boys’ choir (as if there were girls around) and the symphonic band used to be - but they were careful and practiced. They were safe. This is safe too, maybe, he doesn’t worry about himself, but it is so much more than that. What matters is Mercedes and Tina actually smiling at each other, briefly, before Mercedes joins them on the bleachers, dancing between Sam and Finn. What matters is Kurt giving Lauren and Puck a little nod, and then he turns to Blaine -- and then he turns to Blaine -- and smiles.
Blaine’s whole body clenches, but oh, it feels so good.
#
The only part he hates is that, when they come to the end, dragging out the “yo hos yo hos,” he looks across the remaining band members and finds Quinn standing apart from the others, her chin high, her back straight, her eyes hidden behind big sunglasses.
His heart breaks for her, now that he knows.
Wes goes to stand with her, David at his heels. They flank her, the trio of drum majors, and it’s not the raucous happiness of their pirate party, but it’s something, at least.
#
“You are ridiculous,” Kurt says as they walk to his big suv. Mercedes and Quinn walk together, Mercedes still singing pieces of the song, Quinn’s head tipped toward her, but she’s silent. “You know that, right? Ridiculous.”
Blaine grins and shakes back the tail of his shirt. The knot’s coming undone some, but it still works. “It’s possible someone may have mentioned that to me before, once. Maybe twice. Certainly not three times.”
“Oh, certainly not.” Kurt sounds utterly exasperated, but Blaine catches the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He touches Kurt’s arm gently before he thinks about it too hard, stopping him before they catch up with the others. “There’s this show playing this weekend, I’d like to go. The Sing-Along Sound of Music?” His voice is shaking way too much, and he stops, swallows, takes a breath. Kurt is staring at him, those lips slightly parted again, and all he wants to do is kiss him.
But no, no, he’s going to do this right. “I’d like you to go with me. Saturday night? If you’re free?”
Kurt’s head jerks. It could be a nod. It could be he’s about to start laughing. Hard to tell.
“I’m already going,” Kurt says, and Blaine’s hopes plummet.
“Oh, okay. Of course you are. I hope you enjoy it. If you see me, say hello?” He doesn’t mean to add that last part.
“No!” Kurt’s face scrunches up some. “No, I don’t mean no. I mean, I’ll say hello. I mean, yes, I want to go with you. I go every year, sometimes with Mercedes, mostly by myself. But I want to go with you.”
“You do?” Blaine looks up, and his big sister’s told him a hundred times, maybe a billion, that when he does that, he looks like a puppy dog, and though it kinda embarrasses him, right now he doesn’t care. “That’s great, Kurt. I’m glad.” He’s grinning so wide his face hurts, but Kurt’s smiling too. “Maybe we can get dinner first?”
Kurt nods. “I’d like that. But.” He stops, and Blaine leans forward.
“But?” he prompts.
Kurt gives him the once over, and being looked at by Kurt like that is a little like being touched, blunt nails on bare skin. It’s good.
“If you wear your shirt on your head Saturday, I cannot guarantee I will allow you to be seen with me.”
Blaine laughs and tugs his shirt free. “I’ll dress right,” he says. “I promise. You’ll be so impressed you won’t be able to take your eyes off me.”
“Oh.” Kurt gives this laugh, a little high, a little bright. “Yes, well. I’ll hold you to you that.”
“See that you do.”
It takes all Blaine’s focus not to grab Kurt’s hand and skip the rest of the way to the suv.
#
“Hurry up, you two,” Mercedes yells. She’s leaning against Kurt’s vehicle and spreads her arms wide. “We’re running out of time. You know I hate to eat and run.”
Blaine beams at her, and she smiles back automatically. God, he must look ridiculous, but he can’t help it.
#
It’s not until they’re back on the field that he realizes he has absolutely no idea, no idea, what to wear to impress Kurt Hummel.
Oh crap.
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Author: escritoireazul
Written for: sotto_voice, who loves marching band aus and who has become my Glee hero by agreeing to screen season three's episodes for me so I don't accidentally see them do something horrible to my girl and then have to break things. (NO. I DO NOT WANT SPOILERS. I AM FRUSTRATED ENOUGH AS IT IS.) Also, because Lexie apparently reads my freaking mind, OH GOD.
Author's note: This is a transformative work of fiction for the television series Glee. It is a marching band au and almost all the glee club are juniors, with a few exceptions. I'm going to assume you know the one song that appears, but here's a link to the other: The Arrogant Worms "The Last Saskatchewan Pirate" (cover, I think) (complete with a Goonies/Pirates of the Caribbean music vid for you right there, because crossovers are awesome).
Series: The Marching Band Refused to Yield Story Seven
Characters/Pairings: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Quinn Fabray, Mercedes Jones, Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman, Lauren Zizes, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike Chang, Sam Evans, Wes, David, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Lauren Zizes/Noah Puckerman
Rating: 13+
Word count: 4500+
Summary: So maybe he's a ridiculous puppy dog who breaks out into song and dance at inopportune moments. Some people -- Kurt people, he hopes -- like that in a boy.
1.
Monday at lunch, Blaine’s just about to sit down at the table with Kurt when he sees Tina and Lauren walk in together. He puts down his tray and waves at them; Kurt grabs his wrist before he catches their attention.
“Don’t.”
Kurt’s touch is distracting; his hands are soft and smooth, his nails always neat, and Blaine worries that he will feel the way Blaine’s pulse leaps when Kurt’s thumb rubs the inside of his wrist.
“Why--” Blaine has to stop, clear his throat, and try again so his voice won’t crack. “Why not?”
Kurt looks up at him, and Blaine’s chest tightens. He can’t breathe, but it’s a wonderful feeling, his attention all for Kurt, his body swaying imperceptibly closer. For a moment, even his curiosity fades under the intensity of Kurt’s gaze, pretty eyes framed by dark lashes. Then Kurt glances beyond him, and the moment is gone.
“I’ll tell you later.” His voice is low, and he nods to where Mercedes and Quinn are walking toward them. Mercedes smiles when she looks up, but Quinn’s expression is blank.
Blaine frowns and looks back down at Kurt. He opens his mouth, but Kurt shakes his head. “Later,” he promises, and squeezes Blaine’s wrist, tugging at his arm lightly. Blaine takes the hint and sits, close enough his arm will brush against Kurt’s when he reaches for his drink.
Kurt holds his wrist a moment more, his thumb circling lightly over the thin skin of Blaine’s wrist. When he lets go, Blaine’s skin burns with the loss.
2.
Between rehearsals and Kurt spending all his time with Mercedes and Quinn, Blaine doesn’t get a chance to be alone with him until after school on Wednesday. No rehearsals are scheduled, and Mercedes and Quinn are doing something at Mercedes’ church. He’d be fine with joining them, even though religion isn’t a huge part of his life - his dad’s a Christmas and Easter Catholic and his mom has a deeply personal combination of beliefs that trace all the way back to her childhood in the Philippines, but she believes in individual practice of religion and has never forced Blaine into any specific way to practice - but Kurt has zero interest in going with them.
Blaine catches up with Kurt at his locker after last period. Kurt’s checking his hair in the mirror stuck to the inside of the door; it’s surrounded by pictures of his friends, many from band camp.
Many from band camp that include Blaine.
He slumps against the locker next to Kurt’s, his hands tucked into his jean pockets so he won’t clasp them to his chest. He just hopes he’s not gazing at Kurt with hearts in his eyes, all soft and mooning.
Kurt finishes with his hair and slings his fashionable shoulder bag across his body. It’s black with a subtle black silk pattern swirled on the front; it’s almost impossible to see until the light hits it just right.
Finally, Kurt turns to him with a smile, and Blaine beams back. So much for subtle.
“Lima Bean?” he asks, straightening away from the lockers.
“Sounds good.” Kurt checks his hair once more, then shuts his locker. “Want me to drive?”
Blaine shrugs his bag higher. “Please.” He bumps the back of his hand against Kurt’s, but doesn’t reach out and lace their fingers together, no matter how much he wants to walk down the halls holding his hand. He wants that with his boyfriend, and that’s not what they are.
Not yet? He hopes.
But this is nice, too, walking companionably together out to the parking lot.
#
The Lima Bean is filling up fast. “It’s my turn to buy. Why don’t you get us a table?” Blaine suggests.
“Didn’t you buy last time?” Kurt asks.
Blaine shrugs and leans into Kurt a little, offering his most charming smile. “Let me get our drinks. You find a nice, quiet table. You promised me answers.”
For a second, Kurt’s calm mask slips, and the face he pulls is epic, but then it’s gone. “Fine. I’d like a….”
They say it together, “grande nonfat mocha.”
Kurt’s eyes shine. “You know my order?”
“Of course I do. Now let me get in line. I need my caffeine.” Blaine holds his arms out and steps jerkily toward the line. “Caaaaaffeeeeeeeeine.”
“I don’t know you,” Kurt says, then a little louder as he moves away, “I don’t know him.”
The line moves quickly despite its length. The baristas here really know their stuff. Blaine gets Kurt’s order and his own medium drip, and then, at the last second, one of the big chocolate chip cookies. The sign says they’re fresh from the oven, and it is still pretty warm when the barista hands it over. He knows better than to think Kurt will split it with him, but maybe he’ll accept a bite or two at least.
It takes him a second to find Kurt when he’s done; Kurt managed to grab a table in the far corner, and he’s sitting with his back to the wall. He’s half turned away from Blaine, and when Blaine gets closer, he realizes that Kurt is quickly texting something. By the time Blaine reaches him and sets their coffees on the table, though, he’s putting away his phone.
Blaine puts the plate with the cookie in the very center of the table and with one foot nudges his chair closer to Kurt. He doesn’t mind having his back to the room, but a private conversation is a good excuse to sit near him.
Kurt takes a tentative sip of his mocha; Blaine breaks off a piece of the cookie and pops it into his mouth, savoring the sweet taste of chocolate. Finally, Kurt sets down his cup and wraps his hands around it. Blaine’s struck by the way his fingers curve.
“What do you want to know?”
Do you think about kissing me as often as I think about kissing you?
What Blaine says instead is, “I know something happened. Everyone is tense all the time, Quinn hasn’t said three words this week, and Tina and Lauren haven’t been around. What’s going on?”
“Lauren hooked up with Noah Puckerman, and Tina took her side.”
Blaine frowns, trying to place the name. “Oh, that drummer with the mohawk?” At Kurt’s nod, his frown deepens. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Quinn and Puck,” he hesitates, “used to date.”
“Okay.” Blaine drags it out a little and then lets the silence build, because he doesn’t really get it. Kurt doesn’t bite, though, and finally Blaine gives up. “Why’s that a big deal? Back at Dalton, all the guys dated each other’s exes.”
Kurt eyes him. “Is Dalton … were they all gay?”
“What?” But then he gets it and laughs a little. “Oh, no. Well, some were, like me, but not all. Not even most. We had a sister school with whom we did activities, dances and cross-school projects, things like that. A lot of the guys dated girls from there. Small dating pool, lots of cross dating, dating someone your friend has dated. See?”
“This is different.” Kurt frowns and looks down at his hands wrapped around his coffee cup. Blaine takes another drink and leans forward a little, waiting. This time, his silence works, and Kurt starts to speak again, though he doesn’t look, and his voice is so low Blaine has to scoot even closer to hear him. “Quinn got pregnant last year. It was Puck’s.”
“Oh.” Blaine sets down his cup, surprised. “I didn’t know.” It’s an inane thing to say, because of course he didn’t know. One corner of Kurt’s mouth turns up.
“No, we don’t talk about it much. Quinn doesn’t want to talk about it much.”
“Did she,” Blaine hesitates, “end the pregnancy?”
Kurt shakes his head. “No. There was a lot of tension over that.” He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully, noticeable pauses throughout. “But she decided to put it up for adoption. Her. Beth. Puck wanted to name her Beth.” He sighs, takes a long drink, and props his cheek on one hand, looking at Blaine at last. It’s impossible, but Blaine swears there are shadows under his eyes where there weren’t before, as if just thinking about it has exhausted him. “So it’s not just about hooking up with your friend’s ex. Things were really horrible last year.” He stops again, then gives his head a little shake. “Lauren betrayed Quinn. Betrayed us. And Tina … Tina hates Puck. I can’t believe she approves of this.”
Blaine gives himself a moment by eating another bit of cookie and washing it down with a slow drink. When he speaks, he’s careful to keep his voice non-judgmental, quiet and easy. “So you’re going to let a romantic relationship come between your friendships?”
Gentle as he is, Kurt still frowns and straightens, his shoulders sharply squared, his posture perfect. “Lauren is doing that. She chose him over us. You weren’t here, you can’t understand.”
“I wasn’t here,” Blaine agrees. He reaches out, his movements slow, and places his hand on Kurt’s arm. “But I know how people can make mistakes, especially when they’re twisted up with love.”
Kurt makes a noise of disbelief. It’s almost a snort, except that’s not really a sound Kurt would make. “She doesn’t love him. She barely knows him.”
Blaine raises his eyebrows a little and rubs his fingers along Kurt’s arm in slow strokes he hopes are soothing. “They must spend a lot of time together because of the drumline.”
“So?” But Kurt doesn’t sound quite so sure of himself. He hesitates, quiet and still, then presses his lips together into a tight line for a second. “It doesn’t matter. She knows what she did was wrong, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept it a secret from Quinn.”
“I hate to see your friendships end because of this.” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s arm once and lets go, reaching for his coffee. “You were all so friendly to me when I was the new kid, so welcoming.”
“You’re still the new kid.” But Kurt laughs a little, and Blaine smiles, pleased with himself. Then Kurt really surprises him. “It won’t end.”
“But - but you’re so mad, you won’t even talk to them.”
Somehow, Kurt makes lifting one shoulder into a half shrug look elegant. “Yeah, we’re mad. Mercedes is absolutely pissed. She’s not a fighter, but she almost threw down with Lauren when she found out. Still.” He sighs. “We’ll be mad awhile - and we absolutely have the right to be mad. Quinn has the right to be mad - but eventually we’ll make up. We always do.”
“There have been other fights over boys?” Blaine sips his coffee, wondering if any of those boys were for Kurt.
“No. We all have very different tastes.” Then his mouth twists into a moue. “Well, most of us. But we have fought before, we’ve made mistakes before. All of us. Big ones. And we forgive each other eventually.”
It sounds like there is still a lot Blaine doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to push too far into unhappy subjects. Kurt takes a drink, and there’s a bit of mocha left on his lower lip after; his tongue darts out, catching the drop, and Blaine can’t stop staring.
Kurt’s cheeks turn lightly pink, and he picks a tiny piece, more like a crumb, from the cookie Blaine bought for him, his gift of sweets to share.
He is inordinately pleased.
3.
Nothing changes the rest of the week. Kurt and Mercedes flank Quinn in the halls, sit with her at lunch, spend time with her after school. Blaine joins them sometimes, but he keeps quiet about what he knows.
He does watch her still, and the little things he’d missed before start to make sense, the way she touches her stomach, the way she stares at the cheerleaders in their little skirts and tight shirts, so much skin bared.
Mostly, though, Blaine watches Kurt, listens to Kurt, learns about Kurt. And the more he learns about this loyal, protective, fashionable boy, the more he wants to know.
#
Though they’ve only been in school a couple weeks, the next weekend is a three day weekend, because Monday is some teacher work day or something. Blaine doesn’t understand them; Dalton never had one, but he vaguely remembers something like that from before. Back then, he was young enough - and after he came out, miserable enough - all he cared about was a day away from his classmates, and he didn’t much care why.
The marching band doesn’t get a three day weekend, though. They may not have class, but Mr. Schuester scheduled an all-day rehearsal, a mini band camp. They have two songs solidly on the field, and the third one halfway on the field, but their first home football game is coming up on Friday, and Mr. Schuester wants at least three good songs ready to go, plus pre-game.
Mr. Schuester is kind of an optimist.
It’s hot for mid-September in Ohio. It’d be hot for August in Ohio. It’s bad enough that Blaine was sweating in the car on the way to the practice field even with the air conditioner on, but now, after half a morning of marching, he’s pretty sure he’s sweated out all the water in his body, and he’s about to shrivel up into a dehydrated prune. Which is, he realizes, sort of redundant. That’s how dried up his brain has become.
The worst part about this all-day practice is that Blaine can’t even argue that they don’t need it, because they do. Maybe it’s normal for a band to not have their entire show on the field two weeks into the school year, but he can’t quite shake the memory of Carmel’s terrifying perfection, and that trumpet solo.
During their mid-morning break, Blaine watches as some of the band - mostly the guys in drumline and low brass -- pour cold water over their heads. He considers it, but after a second, decides that might just make it worse, because the chill of it would only last so long and then it would just add to the oppressive, muggy warmth that makes the air thick in his lungs. Plus it would ruin the gel in his hair, drip it down his face, and as much as he likes the way the gel keeps his hair under control, it stings his eyes and tastes horrible, so that would suck.
It’s not a bad idea, though, cooling off from the head down. He just needs to modify it. There’s plenty of sunscreen around -- between Quinn and Kurt, they have four bottles with four different spfs -- so he peels off his t-shirt.
Kurt chokes on a drink of water, coughing and spluttering quietly, trying to hide it by covering his mouth with one hand, and Blaine is suddenly nervous.
He’s pretty hairy, and dark, curly hair spreads across his chest and down his stomach. He’s never really been that self-conscious about it -- hair is hair, whatever, and he thinks guys are hot with or without it -- but Kurt is particular, and since he’s not yet figured out what Kurt’s type is, exactly -- there’s still hope that it’s slightly shorter guys with curly hair who leap up onto things a lot because they have too much energy and who spill far too personal secrets over coffee and who think the sound of Kurt’s piccolo is beautiful -- he’s struck by worry about what Kurt will think.
“Take it off!” Mercedes cheers and whoops it up a little. She knows how to make her voice carry when she wants to, and Blaine is glad for all that sun on his face, because he’s flushed and sweaty with embarrassment, but at least he has an excuse. “Didn’t know you signed us up for a strip-tease, Kurt!”
Kurt ducks his head, staring intently down at his water bottle as he twists the cap closed. It’s hard to tell if his cheeks are pink or if that’s just too much sun. Blaine has a half-empty bottle of water that is too warm to drink - he likes his water nearly frozen, so it makes his teeth ache and his tongue numb - but still cooler than the air.
He wets his shirt and twists it into a rope as best he can, then wraps it around his head. It’s cool against his forehead and a bit of water drips down the back of his neck, making him shiver a little despite the heat.
Mr. Schuester calls an end to the break, and the people slumped in the little shade there is to be had haul themselves to their feet. Everyone’s slower dragging themselves onto the field, even the drumline and the color guard, who are usually the first in their places. Blaine slips the wide strap of his bari sax over his head and braces himself for the weight of it.
“Let’s take it from the top,” Mr. Schuester says, his voice echoing from the speakers faced toward the field. He’s standing in the crow’s nest, a baseball cap shading his eyes, and his optimism seems to have faded a little. Not much, though. “All the way through all three songs. You can do this, guys.”
Blaine finds his spot. His body hurts, and his lips are starting to chap. He still doesn’t really understand why his new friends love marching band the way they do - why they all love it, because they’re here, on their day off, working hard - but he does feel a flutter of excitement. Maybe Mr. Schuester is right. Maybe they can do this.
Wes calls them to attention, and Blaine clears his head, focusing only on each step, each note, each spot he’s to hit on the field.
#
When they break for lunch, Kurt comes up while Blaine is still putting away his sax. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright, but they have been marching a long time and it is very hot out. Maybe it’s just that.
Maybe Kurt’s eyes flick down to where Blaine’s pants are slipping low on his hips. With the sunglasses, it’s hard to tell.
Blaine hopes he did.
“Why in the world are you wearing your shirt like that?” He taps his flute case against his thigh. Before Blaine can even begin to explain his logic, Kurt continues. “Did you overdose on pirate movies again?”
His eyebrows raise, and he can feel the grin start to break across his face. Blaine carefully shuts his case, sets it on the ground, and then leaps onto the bleachers - during band camp, he was surprised to see their practice field had metal bleachers, small, nothing at all like the high school, until Finn told him peewee football and junior cheerleading play games there on Saturdays - and breaks into song. He doesn’t even care that he starts toward the end, because it’s his favorite part and he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt even though that makes it kind of hard to sing.
“Well the pirate life’s appealing but you don’t just find it here. I hear in North Alberta there’s a band of buccaneers. They roam the Athabasca from Smith to Fort McKay, and you’re gonna lose your Stetson if you have to pass their waaaaaaaaaaaaaay.” He drags it out a little, leaping up onto the next bench and spinning around. The end of his shirt, where it’s tied off at the back of his head, swings out away from him.
Kurt’s mouth is open in this perfect, wide little “o,” his lips very pink, and Blaine really, really wants to kiss him, wants to slide his tongue across Kurt’s lower lip and suck it into his mouth and explore his teeth and tongue. Wants to know how he tastes, this beautiful boy.
He shimmies his way along the bench like it’s a plank.
“Well winter is a coming and a chill is in the breeze. My pirate days are over once the river starts to freeze. But I’ll be back in spring time and now I have to go, I hear there’s lots of plundering down in Ohio.” It's the wrong state, but he thinks it fits and doesn't mind improvising.
Blaine dramatically leaps off the bench, clearing the first one entirely to land on the ground. He clutches his hands to his chest and spins around again, coming to a stop in front of Kurt. Kurt who is still staring, his eyes wide.
Is it the good kind of staring? He can’t tell, but he hopes. Instead of doing something incredibly stupid like asking, he snaps his heels together and executes a perfect formal bow.
Kurt shakes his head a little, and when Blaine straightens, he realizes Kurt’s not the only one staring. Almost the entire band is as well. His cheeks heat a little, because they’re not supposed to watch him flirt. Surely they’re not, surely it’s the song and dance that drew them in. That, he understands.
When he’s performing, he’s free.
“What the hell was that, dude?”
Oh, wow. Wow. Even Noah Puckerman has made his way closer - even Lauren has, neither of them with their drums -- watching him, staring at him. He can't tell if Noah hated it or thought it was awesome. Blaine looks back to Kurt, and it’s like the sun has gone, his face shut down, anger darkening his expression. If Blaine doesn’t do something fast, Kurt is going to tear into them, and though he thinks Kurt is one of the sweetest, bravest, strongest, best guys he’s ever met, he can be vicious, too. Blaine’s pretty sure he’s never heard the sharpest side of Kurt’s tongue - god, no, don’t think about his tongue, and Blaine shifts his weight - and he doesn’t want to do so now.
Instead he jumps up onto the bleachers again.
“Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.”
His voice rings out, clear and loud, and for a moment, he’s all by himself, and he’s certain he’s failed.
But then Finn laughs and lurches up onto the bleachers too, slinging his arm across Blaine’s shoulder - for a second only, before he drops it and steps away - and starts singing and dancing too, though he stumbles over a couple of the words and his dancing is really swaying back and forth. One of the other saxes, Sam, joins them, spinning around and rocking onto his toes, his blonde hair flopping over his forehead.
Mike Chang doesn’t join in the singing, but he leaps up the bleachers, one two three four and suddenly he’s at the top, and Blaine spins around to watch as he dances, pops and locks and grabbing the top bar, using it for leverage as he moves.
Then suddenly there’s a mob, most of them on the track that circles the practice field, but some of them, juniors and seniors, up on the bleachers, singing and dancing together. It doesn’t matter that they’re tired and hot and sweaty. It doesn’t matter that they’re wasting their lunch break and they’ll have less than two hours to scarf down food and get back.
What matters is their laughter and the song rising up through them, their bodies moving as best they can. What matters is how different this is from Dalton, where “flash mob” really meant genteel gentlemen performing songs in perfect harmony. Yes, they were rockstars, his Warblers - not his anymore, and he’s shocked to realize that marching band is filling all those places inside him, where the boys’ choir (as if there were girls around) and the symphonic band used to be - but they were careful and practiced. They were safe. This is safe too, maybe, he doesn’t worry about himself, but it is so much more than that. What matters is Mercedes and Tina actually smiling at each other, briefly, before Mercedes joins them on the bleachers, dancing between Sam and Finn. What matters is Kurt giving Lauren and Puck a little nod, and then he turns to Blaine -- and then he turns to Blaine -- and smiles.
Blaine’s whole body clenches, but oh, it feels so good.
#
The only part he hates is that, when they come to the end, dragging out the “yo hos yo hos,” he looks across the remaining band members and finds Quinn standing apart from the others, her chin high, her back straight, her eyes hidden behind big sunglasses.
His heart breaks for her, now that he knows.
Wes goes to stand with her, David at his heels. They flank her, the trio of drum majors, and it’s not the raucous happiness of their pirate party, but it’s something, at least.
#
“You are ridiculous,” Kurt says as they walk to his big suv. Mercedes and Quinn walk together, Mercedes still singing pieces of the song, Quinn’s head tipped toward her, but she’s silent. “You know that, right? Ridiculous.”
Blaine grins and shakes back the tail of his shirt. The knot’s coming undone some, but it still works. “It’s possible someone may have mentioned that to me before, once. Maybe twice. Certainly not three times.”
“Oh, certainly not.” Kurt sounds utterly exasperated, but Blaine catches the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He touches Kurt’s arm gently before he thinks about it too hard, stopping him before they catch up with the others. “There’s this show playing this weekend, I’d like to go. The Sing-Along Sound of Music?” His voice is shaking way too much, and he stops, swallows, takes a breath. Kurt is staring at him, those lips slightly parted again, and all he wants to do is kiss him.
But no, no, he’s going to do this right. “I’d like you to go with me. Saturday night? If you’re free?”
Kurt’s head jerks. It could be a nod. It could be he’s about to start laughing. Hard to tell.
“I’m already going,” Kurt says, and Blaine’s hopes plummet.
“Oh, okay. Of course you are. I hope you enjoy it. If you see me, say hello?” He doesn’t mean to add that last part.
“No!” Kurt’s face scrunches up some. “No, I don’t mean no. I mean, I’ll say hello. I mean, yes, I want to go with you. I go every year, sometimes with Mercedes, mostly by myself. But I want to go with you.”
“You do?” Blaine looks up, and his big sister’s told him a hundred times, maybe a billion, that when he does that, he looks like a puppy dog, and though it kinda embarrasses him, right now he doesn’t care. “That’s great, Kurt. I’m glad.” He’s grinning so wide his face hurts, but Kurt’s smiling too. “Maybe we can get dinner first?”
Kurt nods. “I’d like that. But.” He stops, and Blaine leans forward.
“But?” he prompts.
Kurt gives him the once over, and being looked at by Kurt like that is a little like being touched, blunt nails on bare skin. It’s good.
“If you wear your shirt on your head Saturday, I cannot guarantee I will allow you to be seen with me.”
Blaine laughs and tugs his shirt free. “I’ll dress right,” he says. “I promise. You’ll be so impressed you won’t be able to take your eyes off me.”
“Oh.” Kurt gives this laugh, a little high, a little bright. “Yes, well. I’ll hold you to you that.”
“See that you do.”
It takes all Blaine’s focus not to grab Kurt’s hand and skip the rest of the way to the suv.
#
“Hurry up, you two,” Mercedes yells. She’s leaning against Kurt’s vehicle and spreads her arms wide. “We’re running out of time. You know I hate to eat and run.”
Blaine beams at her, and she smiles back automatically. God, he must look ridiculous, but he can’t help it.
#
It’s not until they’re back on the field that he realizes he has absolutely no idea, no idea, what to wear to impress Kurt Hummel.
Oh crap.
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