Diva and the Dork [1/?]
Title: Diva and the Dork
Pairing: Sam/Kurt, mild Blaine/Kurt, Sam/Blaine.
Characters: Sam Evans, Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, various cast.
Summary: Kurt is proud to be a diva; Sam is proud to be a dork. This makes them better friends than either thought possible.
Rating: PG this chapter. We'll see. <3
After a dull practice with the Warblers, all Kurt wanted to do was vacantly read the newest issue of Vogue as he sipped on his usual coffee order. He was joined by his best friend (and not-so-secret crush) Blaine Anderson; the boy who oozed confidence; the boy who held Kurt’s hand with the flimsiest reasons he could muster; the boy who kept singing all the solos week in, week out.
They acted more like an old married couple than friends. Considering all the things they could be doing, they sat complacently in the midst of a coffee shop with a pun for a name. Blaine jabbered about a song he’d like to sing and Kurt soothed his unapparent jealousy with half-ignoring Blaine. Kurt couldn’t imagine fixing the problem with an impassioned duet anymore; it’d gotten worse with the passing weeks.
At first Kurt hadn’t minded. It was just the way things worked at Dalton. Kurt knew that his individuality was second to the social norm for a reason at least. It meant he was safe, and that he didn’t have to deal with bullies on a regular basis. That was a total plus, especially when he considered what else he’d gained. Kurt looked across to Blaine who just smiled his tilted smile and crinkled up his nose a little. It wasn’t so bad, even with an enforced uniform.
“What?” Blaine asked with a snap, as if he had something on his face.
“Nothing. You’re fine,” Kurt assured him, a hand tucked under his chin as he returned his attention to the glossed pages. “Oh Lord, she’s actually wearing that?”
The delicate silver bell just above the doorway of the café didn’t so much as tinkle as it did shatter as the door flung open. A parade of footballers crammed into the small space, all cackling and sifting through the structured booths and tables with lithe little jumps. Of course Kurt noticed them; they were McKinley footballers, particularly the one with an exceptionally cute butt who was goofily laughing. Kurt’s devious little smile didn’t go unnoticed as he sipped at the coffee in hand, nor did the way his lip caught between his teeth.
“Kurt?” Blaine interrupted, his thick eyebrow arched in a way only he could manage.
“Hmm?” Kurt withdrew his amused stare to look back at Blaine.
“Didn’t you sing with that blond one at Sectionals?” he whispered meaningfully, pointing rather openly at the one Kurt had just been eyeing off. Kurt hadn’t even registered Sam as the one he’d been perving on. Of course it had to be someone he knew; the universe hated him like that.
“I - yes. That’s Sam,” Kurt explained in a small voice, fussing with his bangs for a brief few swats.
“Sam!” Blaine called cheerfully, his smile nothing but cordial.
“Blaine!” Kurt not-so-cheerfully hissed at the other.
Before Kurt could lunge across the table to murder Blaine, he was being waved at by a chipper, wide-smiled Sam. The blond laughed a few words to the guys he was standing with before tromping over to beaming Blaine and a frowning Kurt. “Hey! Dude, I haven’t seen you in ages,” Sam smiled, his hands tucked thoughtfully in his pockets.
“Mhh. Hi Sam. How’s glee?”
“Trying to fish our song choices out of me so you can get an upper hand?” Sam accused with the same friendly smile, betraying his joke before he could assure Kurt it was a joke.
“Of course not. We’d probably have to resort to bribery or some other form of information extraction. I doubt you’d be stupid enough to just hand over your set list,” Blaine retorted before extending his hand to Sam. The blond only seemed to register half of what Blaine had said before he was happily shaking Blaine’s hand.
“Bribery? I might be up for that,” Sam smiled genially, his hand frisking his bangs away from his eyes.
“Oh would you now?” Blaine countered, his hands locked firmly in front of him against the cheap laminate of the table.
As if personally insulted by the exchange, Kurt glowered unintentionally as they spoke. Perhaps it was the pseudo-flirtacious vibes he perceived, or maybe the fact Sam was seemingly going along with it. Whatever it was sparked an annoyance in him he hadn’t felt since his days of pining over Finn (or that day at the Gap). His eyes snapped between the two before issuing a small cough for the sake of attention.
“Why are you here Sam? If I may ask…” he added as a safeguard against his hostile snap.
“Some guys from the team wanted some coffee. I said this place was better than the sludge they sell at 7-11. I’ve gotta have good coffee, I mean, when I drink it. I don’t really drink it; it’s kind of empty calories. I usually get ice tea y’know… keeps the skin clear.” Sam nodded at the end of his rambled speech, his eyes dancing between Blaine and Kurt.
“I know what you mean; coffee keeps me up for hours if I drink it late. Tea would probably be a better option,” Blaine agreed as he swirled his own drink, examining the brown liquid as it sloshed about uselessly.
“Lu fo lehrrap. Tsun tutet tspivang ko,” Sam absently noted - not that Kurt or Blaine understood. Before they could question him, Sam heard his name being called for his drink. He bid the pair a goodbye before goofily jogging back to the other footballers Kurt instinctually ignored.
“He’s cute.”
“He’s straight.”
“Doubtful,” Blaine laughed, jabbing around the innards of his coffee with a dull brown plastic spoon.
Kurt rolled his eyes a little at Blaine. His smile faded back onto his features as he watched Sam mucking around with the other footballers with the ease of a genuinely nice guy. Sam never had to act, not even when Kurt had approached him about a duet. Although not super-enthusiastic about the idea, he seemed dedicated enough to stick with it. Well, intend to stick with it. Finn had seen to that little arrangement ending.
“Still staring at the junk in his trunk?”
“Really Blaine?” Kurt scoffed, smacking the other Warbler in the forearm as he averted his gaze as quickly as possible. The pair continued their coffees in peace, discussing their own musical numbers for Regionals. It wasn’t anything new, but it did make Kurt feel that much safer with his choice. They couldn’t possibly lose. As it was a Friday afternoon, Kurt excused himself a little earlier than usual. He’d set himself up to head home for the long weekend - a habit he’d picked up after missing Finn and his parents a little more than he liked to admit.
His boots neatly clicked along the cement as he approached his car, a smile dancing from cheek to cheek. The weekend was definitely here, and it was time for his divalicious CD mix and a facial. An excellent plan for the weekend he liked to think. After tugging the door shut, Kurt caught sight of Sam just across the car park. He was no longer surrounded by the other footballers, and seemed a little less perky than he’d been before.
Kurt debated with himself for a minute before poking his head out the window and hailing the boy’s attention over. He was met with a momentarily blank stare before Sam seemed to recognize him. “Need a lift?”
“I only live - oh - well - I guess, yeah,” Sam replied a little happier than before. He trudged over with his hands still locked into the pockets of his letterman jacket, his cheeks a ruddy colour from the wind.
“You live near me, don’t you? Finn’s mentioned giving you lifts home after football practice,” Kurt inquired, his eyes settling on Sam’s face. There was definitely something off about him. He wasn’t his usual chirpy self, and Kurt had no idea what or who to blame.
“Are you gonna like, drive? ‘Cause I can walk faster than this,” Sam gently prompted, smiling as he did so. Kurt mumbled an apology and turned his car on, barely able to understand how he’d forgotten to start it in the first place.
Pairing: Sam/Kurt, mild Blaine/Kurt, Sam/Blaine.
Characters: Sam Evans, Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, various cast.
Summary: Kurt is proud to be a diva; Sam is proud to be a dork. This makes them better friends than either thought possible.
Rating: PG this chapter. We'll see. <3
After a dull practice with the Warblers, all Kurt wanted to do was vacantly read the newest issue of Vogue as he sipped on his usual coffee order. He was joined by his best friend (and not-so-secret crush) Blaine Anderson; the boy who oozed confidence; the boy who held Kurt’s hand with the flimsiest reasons he could muster; the boy who kept singing all the solos week in, week out.
They acted more like an old married couple than friends. Considering all the things they could be doing, they sat complacently in the midst of a coffee shop with a pun for a name. Blaine jabbered about a song he’d like to sing and Kurt soothed his unapparent jealousy with half-ignoring Blaine. Kurt couldn’t imagine fixing the problem with an impassioned duet anymore; it’d gotten worse with the passing weeks.
At first Kurt hadn’t minded. It was just the way things worked at Dalton. Kurt knew that his individuality was second to the social norm for a reason at least. It meant he was safe, and that he didn’t have to deal with bullies on a regular basis. That was a total plus, especially when he considered what else he’d gained. Kurt looked across to Blaine who just smiled his tilted smile and crinkled up his nose a little. It wasn’t so bad, even with an enforced uniform.
“What?” Blaine asked with a snap, as if he had something on his face.
“Nothing. You’re fine,” Kurt assured him, a hand tucked under his chin as he returned his attention to the glossed pages. “Oh Lord, she’s actually wearing that?”
The delicate silver bell just above the doorway of the café didn’t so much as tinkle as it did shatter as the door flung open. A parade of footballers crammed into the small space, all cackling and sifting through the structured booths and tables with lithe little jumps. Of course Kurt noticed them; they were McKinley footballers, particularly the one with an exceptionally cute butt who was goofily laughing. Kurt’s devious little smile didn’t go unnoticed as he sipped at the coffee in hand, nor did the way his lip caught between his teeth.
“Kurt?” Blaine interrupted, his thick eyebrow arched in a way only he could manage.
“Hmm?” Kurt withdrew his amused stare to look back at Blaine.
“Didn’t you sing with that blond one at Sectionals?” he whispered meaningfully, pointing rather openly at the one Kurt had just been eyeing off. Kurt hadn’t even registered Sam as the one he’d been perving on. Of course it had to be someone he knew; the universe hated him like that.
“I - yes. That’s Sam,” Kurt explained in a small voice, fussing with his bangs for a brief few swats.
“Sam!” Blaine called cheerfully, his smile nothing but cordial.
“Blaine!” Kurt not-so-cheerfully hissed at the other.
Before Kurt could lunge across the table to murder Blaine, he was being waved at by a chipper, wide-smiled Sam. The blond laughed a few words to the guys he was standing with before tromping over to beaming Blaine and a frowning Kurt. “Hey! Dude, I haven’t seen you in ages,” Sam smiled, his hands tucked thoughtfully in his pockets.
“Mhh. Hi Sam. How’s glee?”
“Trying to fish our song choices out of me so you can get an upper hand?” Sam accused with the same friendly smile, betraying his joke before he could assure Kurt it was a joke.
“Of course not. We’d probably have to resort to bribery or some other form of information extraction. I doubt you’d be stupid enough to just hand over your set list,” Blaine retorted before extending his hand to Sam. The blond only seemed to register half of what Blaine had said before he was happily shaking Blaine’s hand.
“Bribery? I might be up for that,” Sam smiled genially, his hand frisking his bangs away from his eyes.
“Oh would you now?” Blaine countered, his hands locked firmly in front of him against the cheap laminate of the table.
As if personally insulted by the exchange, Kurt glowered unintentionally as they spoke. Perhaps it was the pseudo-flirtacious vibes he perceived, or maybe the fact Sam was seemingly going along with it. Whatever it was sparked an annoyance in him he hadn’t felt since his days of pining over Finn (or that day at the Gap). His eyes snapped between the two before issuing a small cough for the sake of attention.
“Why are you here Sam? If I may ask…” he added as a safeguard against his hostile snap.
“Some guys from the team wanted some coffee. I said this place was better than the sludge they sell at 7-11. I’ve gotta have good coffee, I mean, when I drink it. I don’t really drink it; it’s kind of empty calories. I usually get ice tea y’know… keeps the skin clear.” Sam nodded at the end of his rambled speech, his eyes dancing between Blaine and Kurt.
“I know what you mean; coffee keeps me up for hours if I drink it late. Tea would probably be a better option,” Blaine agreed as he swirled his own drink, examining the brown liquid as it sloshed about uselessly.
“Lu fo lehrrap. Tsun tutet tspivang ko,” Sam absently noted - not that Kurt or Blaine understood. Before they could question him, Sam heard his name being called for his drink. He bid the pair a goodbye before goofily jogging back to the other footballers Kurt instinctually ignored.
“He’s cute.”
“He’s straight.”
“Doubtful,” Blaine laughed, jabbing around the innards of his coffee with a dull brown plastic spoon.
Kurt rolled his eyes a little at Blaine. His smile faded back onto his features as he watched Sam mucking around with the other footballers with the ease of a genuinely nice guy. Sam never had to act, not even when Kurt had approached him about a duet. Although not super-enthusiastic about the idea, he seemed dedicated enough to stick with it. Well, intend to stick with it. Finn had seen to that little arrangement ending.
“Still staring at the junk in his trunk?”
“Really Blaine?” Kurt scoffed, smacking the other Warbler in the forearm as he averted his gaze as quickly as possible. The pair continued their coffees in peace, discussing their own musical numbers for Regionals. It wasn’t anything new, but it did make Kurt feel that much safer with his choice. They couldn’t possibly lose. As it was a Friday afternoon, Kurt excused himself a little earlier than usual. He’d set himself up to head home for the long weekend - a habit he’d picked up after missing Finn and his parents a little more than he liked to admit.
His boots neatly clicked along the cement as he approached his car, a smile dancing from cheek to cheek. The weekend was definitely here, and it was time for his divalicious CD mix and a facial. An excellent plan for the weekend he liked to think. After tugging the door shut, Kurt caught sight of Sam just across the car park. He was no longer surrounded by the other footballers, and seemed a little less perky than he’d been before.
Kurt debated with himself for a minute before poking his head out the window and hailing the boy’s attention over. He was met with a momentarily blank stare before Sam seemed to recognize him. “Need a lift?”
“I only live - oh - well - I guess, yeah,” Sam replied a little happier than before. He trudged over with his hands still locked into the pockets of his letterman jacket, his cheeks a ruddy colour from the wind.
“You live near me, don’t you? Finn’s mentioned giving you lifts home after football practice,” Kurt inquired, his eyes settling on Sam’s face. There was definitely something off about him. He wasn’t his usual chirpy self, and Kurt had no idea what or who to blame.
“Are you gonna like, drive? ‘Cause I can walk faster than this,” Sam gently prompted, smiling as he did so. Kurt mumbled an apology and turned his car on, barely able to understand how he’d forgotten to start it in the first place.