FIC: Swords, Shimmies, Sausages, and Other Distractions
Title: Swords, Shimmies, Sausages, and Other Distractions
Pair: Klaine
Word Count: ~1675
Spoilers: Through 3.04
Summary: Our little baby penguin brings all the boys to the yard. Plus Brittany.
Author’s Note: Just trying to make myself feel better.
Artie can’t wipe the look of delight off of his face. He’s always found Kurt’s performances a little uncomfortable, and this one starts off that way, with Kurt pouting and then making silver flute noises. But then he’s pulling faces, dancing backward impishly, climbing up to the top of the scaffolding and flinging himself down. He’s lean and limber, and his voice just has this rich tone to it that Kurt uses when he’s singing Barbara and Artie has this traitorous thought that they might’ve won Nationals if they’d given Kurt a chance at a solo.
And then there are swords. Swords. And Artie is glad that he’s sitting down because he’s so uncomfortable and his pants are getting tight. He crosses his arms over his thighs and tells himself...
Kurt’s just so delicate. He’s so like a girl. That’s why. Obviously...
Artie keeps telling himself this even after he is faced down with Ms. Pillsbury talking about Kurt’s guns as “toothpick arms” and calling him a “lady.” And if that’s the case... he can handle what happened. And what would never happen again.
The next time he sees Kurt on stage, he has himself so convinced that the words “masculine power” come out of Kurt’s mouth and Artie laughs, because that can’t be. Not Kurt. Not their little Kurt! Their babygay, their punk princess, with the peeping voice and swishing hips.
In some ways, by the time the deliberating is over, Artie has convinced himself that they’re doing the right thing, protecting Kurt, when they give him such a small role.
Kurt’s just so delicate. He just fell apart after his second audition. What would he do when the audience laughed at him trying to play a gang member? Or Anita. That was the other option.
Artie only starts to feel guilty when Kurt has stopped talking to him beyond what is absolutely required in rehearsal and reacts not the slightest at any mention of the play or casting.
He’s feeling something, but they’ll never know it. Because he’s strong. Like is voice. Bendable, oh so bendable, but unbreakable. Made so by years of being beaten down and getting up again.
And there’s no pretending otherwise.
***
Mike doesn’t really understand why Kurt’s dancing is so distracting. It seems like every time they’re in the middle of a number, Kurt shimmies his shoulders or wiggles his hips and...
Mike just kinda forgets what he’s doing. He really almost missed a step during Nationals. That’s how bad it is.
So, he convinces Mr. Schue to put Kurt in Booty Camp, so every day they can train the shimmies and wiggles out of him, but even when he’s doing a widowmaker or popping and locking, there’s something about the way he moves that’s just...
Distracting.
“Stop!” Mike comes up to Kurt and looks over him, brow furrowed and heart pounding in frustration.
“I’m doing it just like you said!” Kurt snaps, the strain and breathlessness making his voice go shrill.
“Kurt,” Mr. Schue warns.
Kurt sighs, licks his lips, and starts over. His long limbs move crisply. His biceps curl. His face is graceful and determined.
Mr. Schue turns to Mike. “I think he’s got it. You?”
Mike puts his hands on his hips and swallows. His face is feeling hot.
Kurt puts his hands on his hips as well, and cocks a brow.
And that’s distracting, too.
“Yeah. Okay, everyone in the line! From the top.” Mike turns away, quickly, and watching Tina stretching. His eyes drift back to Kurt, and his loose shirt, hanging off one shoulder...
***
“He’s my precious little unicorn.” Brittany sighs as she draws a boy with a heart for a head on her paper with a crayon.
“What?” Santana frowns and looks at her. She’s a little confused, but sometimes it does take a bit to figure out what Brittany is trying to convey.
Her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she gives the heart-boy a horn. “Kurt. Have you noticed how much weight he’s lost? And he’s taller. I think they watered him a lot at Dalton.”
Watered. Like a weed. Or a friggin’ pansy. “Britt, you know he’s into guys. He’s not going to want to... You know. Besides. We’re mingling.”
“I’m flexible! Heteroflexible. Also, sometimes he forgets that he’s gay, like that week we dated. I have that sausage shaped massager, and if he wants, we could totally play at hiding it.” Brittany closes her eyes and smiles. Very, very wide.
Santana’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms.
The next day she storms into the choir room and tosses (or throws, whatever) a bag at Kurt’s chest. He shoots her a look of unmitigated suspicion (as he might, since she’s sent him hardcore porn-mails on his phone during class and had a dildo shaped like a tentacle delivered to his dad’s shop).
“It’s lube,” she says loudly enough for the others to hear. “For your vagina the next time Blaine decides to pound on it.”
The look on Kurt’s face is somewhere between horrified and angry and humiliated. He drops the bag on the ground like it’s burned him just as the laughter starts. Mr. Schue walks in before Kurt can say anything back. Others fill the room. Blaine sits by Kurt and takes his hand when he sees his boyfriend’s face.
“What is it?” he whispers. “Why are you so upset?”
Santana takes her seat with Brittany when she comes in, and about ten minutes into the lesson, she casts a glance back at Kurt.
His lips are pressed into a white line, and he’s holding Blaine’s hand so hard that it looks like it might hurt. Blaine isn’t objecting, though. He’s just looking at Kurt with a confused little frown, rubbing his thumb up and down Kurt’s hand.
And Kurt looks like he did around this time last year. Like Karofsky had just stolen another piece of his dignity.
Santana turns back to the front, quickly.
***
Blaine looks up from the book he’s reading to see Kurt shaking his hand vigorously. His eyes and brain put together the hand and the hot burner, and Blaine hurries over to pull Kurt’s hand under running water. “Be careful.”
“Dinner’s not worth losing a hand over,” Burt says. “What’s eatin’ you? Why’re you so distracted?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Except for maiming myself,” Kurt says. He winces and meets Blaine’s eye with a pout.
“Is this the same thing you were upset about before?” Burt takes the pan of whatever Kurt was cooking off the stove and leans against the counter. “Is this about the play?”
“No. I’m- ow.” Kurt pulls his hand back and sticks his burned fingers in his mouth.
Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt. “Everyone in the Glee club is being mean to him this week.”
“What now?” Burt’s voice raises a little. "Am I gonna have to go up to that school with a flamethrower?"
“It’s fine.” Kurt shrugs. “I mean, we have to be our best, if we’re going to win Nationals this year.”
“Santana’s “gift” had nothing to do with any of that. And Rachel?” Blaine kisses Kurt’s neck, then looks over at Burt warily. Burt just raises his brows and looks nonplussed.
Kurt sighs. “This isn’t my week. Maybe next week. Maybe my dancing will... improve or something.”
Blaine crooks his mouth to the side. “Whatever. I love your shimmies and jazz hands. I think Mike does, too, actually.”
Kurt pulls away and goes over to check dinner. “Mike is straight. And he hates it. He’s always making me do the moves extra times, just to “be sure.””
“He finds it “distracting,”” Blaine says as though scandalized, creasing his eyes and holding up his hands. “I find it distracting.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and shakes his head, even as Burt chuckles. “He’s straight.” He half-turns to Blaine. “And even if he weren’t, why would he be looking at me? You’re at booty camp.”
“Oh, oh!” Blaine laughs, shaking his head, and grabs Kurt from behind. “Don’t even start, gorgeous. Mike has the horn for you. I think he’s bi. Next time he calls you distracting I’m tellin’ him that I don’t wanna share.”
Burt has pressed his lips together, watching seriously. “You tell that Mike kid, too, that if he tries anything, he’s gonna have to have a talk with Kurt’s old man.”
Kurt looks at his dad with a disbelieving arched brow. Burt smirks as he leaves the boys.
“Is dinner ruined?”
“No.” Kurt dips his finger into the sauce. “Yes. It didn’t need to come off. It needed to be stirred.”
“I’ll help.” Blaine nibbles Kurt’s neck.
“That’s ah... That’s not helping.”
“I’m just celebrating the fact that I get to keep you, and no one else can, even if they want to. They can stand back and be all jealous.”
“No one wants me-”
“Cut it out,” Blaine chides, sliding his hand down Kurt’s tight abs. “You’re amazing. And you should know that.”
Kurt breathes in deep and leans back against Blaine. His long fingers stroke against the back of Blaine’s neck, and a little smile crosses Kurt’s lips. As though beckoned, Blaine draws closer and touches them with his own.
“Mm.”
“After dinner, do you want to-”
“You put on the Gaga. I’ll get Finn to distract your dad.”
Kurt’s giggle rings throughout the kitchen.
“All mine,” Blaine whispers.
Pair: Klaine
Word Count: ~1675
Spoilers: Through 3.04
Summary: Our little baby penguin brings all the boys to the yard. Plus Brittany.
Author’s Note: Just trying to make myself feel better.
Artie can’t wipe the look of delight off of his face. He’s always found Kurt’s performances a little uncomfortable, and this one starts off that way, with Kurt pouting and then making silver flute noises. But then he’s pulling faces, dancing backward impishly, climbing up to the top of the scaffolding and flinging himself down. He’s lean and limber, and his voice just has this rich tone to it that Kurt uses when he’s singing Barbara and Artie has this traitorous thought that they might’ve won Nationals if they’d given Kurt a chance at a solo.
And then there are swords. Swords. And Artie is glad that he’s sitting down because he’s so uncomfortable and his pants are getting tight. He crosses his arms over his thighs and tells himself...
Kurt’s just so delicate. He’s so like a girl. That’s why. Obviously...
Artie keeps telling himself this even after he is faced down with Ms. Pillsbury talking about Kurt’s guns as “toothpick arms” and calling him a “lady.” And if that’s the case... he can handle what happened. And what would never happen again.
The next time he sees Kurt on stage, he has himself so convinced that the words “masculine power” come out of Kurt’s mouth and Artie laughs, because that can’t be. Not Kurt. Not their little Kurt! Their babygay, their punk princess, with the peeping voice and swishing hips.
In some ways, by the time the deliberating is over, Artie has convinced himself that they’re doing the right thing, protecting Kurt, when they give him such a small role.
Kurt’s just so delicate. He just fell apart after his second audition. What would he do when the audience laughed at him trying to play a gang member? Or Anita. That was the other option.
Artie only starts to feel guilty when Kurt has stopped talking to him beyond what is absolutely required in rehearsal and reacts not the slightest at any mention of the play or casting.
He’s feeling something, but they’ll never know it. Because he’s strong. Like is voice. Bendable, oh so bendable, but unbreakable. Made so by years of being beaten down and getting up again.
And there’s no pretending otherwise.
***
Mike doesn’t really understand why Kurt’s dancing is so distracting. It seems like every time they’re in the middle of a number, Kurt shimmies his shoulders or wiggles his hips and...
Mike just kinda forgets what he’s doing. He really almost missed a step during Nationals. That’s how bad it is.
So, he convinces Mr. Schue to put Kurt in Booty Camp, so every day they can train the shimmies and wiggles out of him, but even when he’s doing a widowmaker or popping and locking, there’s something about the way he moves that’s just...
Distracting.
“Stop!” Mike comes up to Kurt and looks over him, brow furrowed and heart pounding in frustration.
“I’m doing it just like you said!” Kurt snaps, the strain and breathlessness making his voice go shrill.
“Kurt,” Mr. Schue warns.
Kurt sighs, licks his lips, and starts over. His long limbs move crisply. His biceps curl. His face is graceful and determined.
Mr. Schue turns to Mike. “I think he’s got it. You?”
Mike puts his hands on his hips and swallows. His face is feeling hot.
Kurt puts his hands on his hips as well, and cocks a brow.
And that’s distracting, too.
“Yeah. Okay, everyone in the line! From the top.” Mike turns away, quickly, and watching Tina stretching. His eyes drift back to Kurt, and his loose shirt, hanging off one shoulder...
***
“He’s my precious little unicorn.” Brittany sighs as she draws a boy with a heart for a head on her paper with a crayon.
“What?” Santana frowns and looks at her. She’s a little confused, but sometimes it does take a bit to figure out what Brittany is trying to convey.
Her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she gives the heart-boy a horn. “Kurt. Have you noticed how much weight he’s lost? And he’s taller. I think they watered him a lot at Dalton.”
Watered. Like a weed. Or a friggin’ pansy. “Britt, you know he’s into guys. He’s not going to want to... You know. Besides. We’re mingling.”
“I’m flexible! Heteroflexible. Also, sometimes he forgets that he’s gay, like that week we dated. I have that sausage shaped massager, and if he wants, we could totally play at hiding it.” Brittany closes her eyes and smiles. Very, very wide.
Santana’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms.
The next day she storms into the choir room and tosses (or throws, whatever) a bag at Kurt’s chest. He shoots her a look of unmitigated suspicion (as he might, since she’s sent him hardcore porn-mails on his phone during class and had a dildo shaped like a tentacle delivered to his dad’s shop).
“It’s lube,” she says loudly enough for the others to hear. “For your vagina the next time Blaine decides to pound on it.”
The look on Kurt’s face is somewhere between horrified and angry and humiliated. He drops the bag on the ground like it’s burned him just as the laughter starts. Mr. Schue walks in before Kurt can say anything back. Others fill the room. Blaine sits by Kurt and takes his hand when he sees his boyfriend’s face.
“What is it?” he whispers. “Why are you so upset?”
Santana takes her seat with Brittany when she comes in, and about ten minutes into the lesson, she casts a glance back at Kurt.
His lips are pressed into a white line, and he’s holding Blaine’s hand so hard that it looks like it might hurt. Blaine isn’t objecting, though. He’s just looking at Kurt with a confused little frown, rubbing his thumb up and down Kurt’s hand.
And Kurt looks like he did around this time last year. Like Karofsky had just stolen another piece of his dignity.
Santana turns back to the front, quickly.
***
Blaine looks up from the book he’s reading to see Kurt shaking his hand vigorously. His eyes and brain put together the hand and the hot burner, and Blaine hurries over to pull Kurt’s hand under running water. “Be careful.”
“Dinner’s not worth losing a hand over,” Burt says. “What’s eatin’ you? Why’re you so distracted?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Except for maiming myself,” Kurt says. He winces and meets Blaine’s eye with a pout.
“Is this the same thing you were upset about before?” Burt takes the pan of whatever Kurt was cooking off the stove and leans against the counter. “Is this about the play?”
“No. I’m- ow.” Kurt pulls his hand back and sticks his burned fingers in his mouth.
Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt. “Everyone in the Glee club is being mean to him this week.”
“What now?” Burt’s voice raises a little. "Am I gonna have to go up to that school with a flamethrower?"
“It’s fine.” Kurt shrugs. “I mean, we have to be our best, if we’re going to win Nationals this year.”
“Santana’s “gift” had nothing to do with any of that. And Rachel?” Blaine kisses Kurt’s neck, then looks over at Burt warily. Burt just raises his brows and looks nonplussed.
Kurt sighs. “This isn’t my week. Maybe next week. Maybe my dancing will... improve or something.”
Blaine crooks his mouth to the side. “Whatever. I love your shimmies and jazz hands. I think Mike does, too, actually.”
Kurt pulls away and goes over to check dinner. “Mike is straight. And he hates it. He’s always making me do the moves extra times, just to “be sure.””
“He finds it “distracting,”” Blaine says as though scandalized, creasing his eyes and holding up his hands. “I find it distracting.”
Kurt rolls his eyes and shakes his head, even as Burt chuckles. “He’s straight.” He half-turns to Blaine. “And even if he weren’t, why would he be looking at me? You’re at booty camp.”
“Oh, oh!” Blaine laughs, shaking his head, and grabs Kurt from behind. “Don’t even start, gorgeous. Mike has the horn for you. I think he’s bi. Next time he calls you distracting I’m tellin’ him that I don’t wanna share.”
Burt has pressed his lips together, watching seriously. “You tell that Mike kid, too, that if he tries anything, he’s gonna have to have a talk with Kurt’s old man.”
Kurt looks at his dad with a disbelieving arched brow. Burt smirks as he leaves the boys.
“Is dinner ruined?”
“No.” Kurt dips his finger into the sauce. “Yes. It didn’t need to come off. It needed to be stirred.”
“I’ll help.” Blaine nibbles Kurt’s neck.
“That’s ah... That’s not helping.”
“I’m just celebrating the fact that I get to keep you, and no one else can, even if they want to. They can stand back and be all jealous.”
“No one wants me-”
“Cut it out,” Blaine chides, sliding his hand down Kurt’s tight abs. “You’re amazing. And you should know that.”
Kurt breathes in deep and leans back against Blaine. His long fingers stroke against the back of Blaine’s neck, and a little smile crosses Kurt’s lips. As though beckoned, Blaine draws closer and touches them with his own.
“Mm.”
“After dinner, do you want to-”
“You put on the Gaga. I’ll get Finn to distract your dad.”
Kurt’s giggle rings throughout the kitchen.
“All mine,” Blaine whispers.