FIC: Team Bruce, Team Ellen
Title: Team Kruce, Team Ellen
Pair: Kadam, Kurt and Santana friendship
Post “Guilty Pleasures.” Not Blaine-friendly (or really friendly to that many people)
Summary: Santana’s not really sure about this Adam guy. Kurt has terrible taste in men, so she thinks she might be on Team Bruce. One night she comes home from work to see the British crumpet himself making dinner, and decides to grill him a little.
Bruce was pretty much the only companion that Santana had ever approved of for Kurt.
Yeah, that night had kind of hurt a little bit. She and Rachel snuck in there with a big pot of warm water to make him piss the bed. All in good fun. Roommate shenanigans, and Kurt kind of deserved it for acting like he was their dad all the time, really. But then they’d found Kurt being hugged by an arm that was not real. He’d looked up at them, not even trying to hide it, grumpy, flustered, and embarrassed.
Are you lonely? Do you need companionship?
Yes. Yes, I need all those things.
Santana understood. Needing all those things. She knew what it was like to be lonely. To need a companion. There were times when she regretted leaving Lima and going to college at all. It had been boring, and terrible, and people were just as awful as she’d expected, but she couldn’t find anyone worth being around. But there was no way she could be on the road all that time, and no way she could just leave Brittany there suffering. Stupid McKinley. Stupid feeling of owing it to her family to try to ‘better’ herself via college. Yeah, her dad was a doctor, but he was small practice, and she was first gen as far as her mom’s side was concerned.
Kurt just stared at her, his brain still not totally awake, as though he was trying to determine whether or not she was making fun of him with the comment about Grindr. But she’d meant it. There were plenty of big beefy guys out there hungry to chomp their teeth into a little Kurt Twinkie. He could easily find a companion that was just as much of an asshole as the one he’d left behind, or worse. Much worse.
Santana had never been a Blaine fan. Though she didn’t know him well, but honestly, she was so tired of hearing his voice every week in Glee that she had no intention of ever listening to his whining long enough to find out what Kurt saw in him. Now she didn’t have to. Or she hoped she didn’t.
And Finn... Kurt liked Finn before he was even remotely tolerable. What was that about? Why like someone who’d helped bully you? And Sam was just stupid and pointless. Why did people keep falling for Sam? First Kurt, then Quinn, Mercedes, then Brittany? Ugh. Barf. He had a face like a baboon’s ass. Blondie needed a bath. And Kurt needed better taste in men.
(Now that she thought about it, so did Rachel. God. Santana was surrounded by hard-luck gay men.)
Now he had Bruce. Maybe that would put the brakes on this thing with Doctor Who. No guy could be all sweetness, and smiles, and cookie baking. If Brody didn’t sell drugs, that was probably Adam’s deal. Or he was part of some British cult. Maybe he was the reincarnation of Hitler. Maybe he was lying about being from S-Land or wherever he’d said. He seemed too normal. He was like a giant baby walking around the world and making gassy smiles, trusting everyone he met.
Brody’s a sweetheart!
Santana rolled her eyes as she remembered. And every time she’d gotten short with him, or outright insulted him, he’d responded with a sad smile, usually saying nothing. Not even with a tight, bitchy smile, the way Kurt would when he was picking his battles and would come for her later.
Milk plus toast. Bleh. Where was the bite? Where was the banter? All he had with Kurt was giggling and silliness. They were like a couple of schoolgirls. Laughing together, holding hands, cuddling like little baby kittens.
“I was serious about the Grindr thing,” Santana said, her tone slightly flippant over breakfast.
“What?” Kurt was still groggy, one hand wrapped around his mug of tea, leaning on the other and staring at the box of cereal as though it had done him a grave wrong.
“You could do worse things. Y’know. Than buy a pillow.” Santana poured herself some cereal and sat in the seat beside him.
His brows lifted. He sipped his tea and looked at her sharply.
“Or...” She shrugged and held her hands in the air. “You could find some random slut to keep you company, contract AIDS, and make your dad cry.”
Kurt’s lips screwed to the side.
“I’m just saying,” she breezed.
“Say less.” Kurt rolled his eyes.
Santana frowned. “Why are you so embarrassed? Yeah, okay, it’s a little weird, but it’s not like we caught you masturbating. I’m gonna guess you do that, since I’ve never seen Adam spend the night over here, and I’ve seen your manly dangle when you were in the Cheerios, so I know you have one.”
Kurt closed his eyes.
“I mean, with the tightness of some of the jeans you wear... You have to know how to tuck. That thing would not fit comfortably in some of your outfits.” Santana sighed, softly. “I don’t know how Blaine was able to sit down some days... of course some, he looked a little, hmmm... sore but definitely satis-”
“Could you please not talk about sex with Blaine at the breakfast table?” Kurt snapped.
Santana lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. She liked where that reaction led.
“Santana, can you just... keep your mocking to the pillow? I can’t hear it about Blaine from anyone else right now.”
“Not sure what you expect to hear from me about Blaine. I’m just razzing you, Kurt. There’s wrong with the pillow.” She rested her chin on her palm. “There is kinda something wrong that you can’t just ask Adam over.”
“I got it before Adam. Sometimes I can’t sleep.”
“I noticed from the endless Golden Girls marathon,” she teased.
Kurt looked down at his cereal and stirred it around. This was like trying to pry a wall open. Rachel was much easier to crack.
“There’s nothing wrong. We’re just taking it slow.”
“Because he wants to or...?”
“Y’know, Santana, I’m not sure why you think I’d want your advice on guuuuys.” Kurt stood and went to drop his cereal into the sink
“Well, I was right about the plastic man-whore.”
“Adam’s not a man-whore.”
“How well do you even know him?” She stood and followed him into the kitchen, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.
“Hence. Going. Slow.” Kurt wrapped his lips around each word as he spat them out.
God, he was super embarrassed and cranky. Look at those rosy cheeks glow.
“Okay. Good.” Santana nodded.
Kurt sighed and headed for the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him.
“Wow.” Santana walked over to her designated space and started to sift through her pile of clothes for something to wear to work. “Someone’s on their queeriod.”
***
A week later, Santana came home draggin’ ass. Kurt had gotten her a job at the restaurant where he waited tables, and she did pretty good tips there. But customers were worse than normal people, and having to smile at them all freaking hurt her face. That was about all the social energy she had in her, working. And since it was frequented almost entirely by gay men, a lot of them didn’t cut her the slack she expected they cut Kurt... although she’d caught them dropping things to make him pick them up, which she’d never had to do.
There had to be something easier than this. Or, if not easier, more pleasant than being called “honey” all night or mistaken for a drag queen.
She liked New York a lot, but she hadn’t figured out her purpose there yet. She wished she could be more like Rachel or Kurt. Rachel had her destiny handed to her. Kurt worked his tight little buns off until people had to give him what he wanted. Santana could probably crash land her way into her dream job and make them give it to her through some kind of scheme or the force of her raw awesome and sass, but that would mean knowing what she wanted.
It was uncomfortable, being exhausted and adrift.
She heard music in the apartment. Something insufferably full of cheer and jazz.
“What we think is chic, unique, and quite adorable! They think is odd and Sodom and Gomorrah-ble!”
And it was a male voice singing along. Kurt wouldn’t get back from dance class for an hour, unless he’d cut class and used a time warm.
Oh, great. Prince Bohemia Pants.
“But the fact is: Everything today is thoroughly modern! Check your personality! Everything today makes yesterday slow! Better face reality!”
Santana heaved open the door to see Adam doing knock-kneed dance steps as he moved around the kitchen. Making dinner or something.
“It’s not insanity, says Vanity Faiiir! In fact! It’s stylish to raise your skirts and bob your hair!”
You’d think with all those muscles, Adam might be a little butcher, but he probably menstruated.
“Hey, Jeeves,” Santana said loudly.
Adam startled and fumbled with his knife. For a moment, Santana’s eyes widened because he might cut himself and then she’d have to take him to the emergency room, and spend the whole night with him, and then face Kurt’s wrath for maiming his boyfriend. But he didn’t. He just dropped the knife and looked back at her. The music continued to play behind them, and Adam looked at her anxiously. He was de-beanied, but his hair was a wreck (shocker), so it had probably been on his head at one point that day.
“Sorry!”
Santana wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, so she just shrugged and walked over to the stereo to turn it off. “No show-tunes right after work.”
“Right.” Adam bent over to pick up the knife and took it to the sink to wash it. “Do you like pizza?”
“Who doesn’t like pizza?” Santana snapped as she dropped onto the futon to take off her work shoes. The one awesome thing about waiting on queens is that they care if she didn’t drag her ass around in heels for them.
“Right.”
Santana draped herself back over the futon and closed her eyes. The water ran, and then there was the sound of chopping again.
“Wait, are you making pizza?” Santana lifted her head. “From scratch?”
Adam said nothing for a moment, then they both turned their heads toward one another at once.
“Yes?” he said hesitantly.
She stared at him and narrowed her eyes. “Who does that? Really? Were you like a house elf in England or something? Are you an escaped butler?”
Adam laughed, the corners of his mouth stretching wide.
“You think that’s funny?”
“Do I look like an elf? House elves are a bit small, aren’t they?”
Santana rose and padded back over to the kitchen, pulling her hair back as she went. Adam was smiling still, nervousness momentarily gone. “And you’re just... all happy happy face now?”
“Well, at least you don’t suspect I’m a drug dealer. House elf is better than that.”
Santana watched Adam adding tomatoes and spices to the pot. He really was making pizza. From scratch. Even the sauce.
“So are you and Kurt on the rocks? Is that why he’s lonely and you’re sucking up with bizarro homemade pizza?”
“He’s... He’s lonely?” Adam turned his head with a frown.
Somehow dampening that sunshine-y exterior didn’t give Santana as much pleasure as she’d thought it would.
“I’ve been away. Out of town. I hope it hasn’t been too bad for him?” Adam stopped stirring the pot and turned back to look at her. “Has something happened at school again? Is he all right? Did... Did Blaine come by?”
“No. No, God, no. This loft has way too many drama queens already. I’d drop him out the window before he got grease stains on the futon.”
Adam nodded, blinking. “Then what happened?”
“Nothing. I just...” Santana shook her head. “Kurt didn’t say where you’d went, and it didn’t occur to me that you had a life outside of prancing around our loft baking things.”
Adam’s brow furrowed, and his jaw shifted into a deeper square. He pressed his lips together, let a breath out, and picked up his wooden spoon again. “So what happened?”
“Nothing,” Santana said in frustration.
“I must be confused,” Adam said softly, his lips pulling into a forced smile on one side.
“God, you’re nauseating.”
“A-Am I?” Adam leaned forward and turned the burner down. Then he stepped over to the neat line of bowls on the counter.
“You come over here to make pizzas. From scratch.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “We’ve... established that.”
“You bake cookies, and sing show-tunes, and you do silly impressions, and you’re always smiling and-” Santana switched into a Cockney accent. “-‘E’s a sweet’eart! And oh, who cares if you boned your ex when you went home! We’ll make memories!”
Adam pulled out the flour and frowned again. This time with no mirth or concern tempering it.
“I prefer to see the best in people.” He measured the flour and sifted it into a large glass bowl. “Even people who seem rough around the edges, or confrontational.”
“Oh. You mean me, Mark Cohen?”
Adam fought another smile at the musical reference and looked down at his outfit. “And it’s not that I don’t know about what happened at the wedding. Your ‘hints’ make me think that you are trying to make me suspect something I already know. Or that you deeply believe I should shun Kurt for backsliding with someone he has two years of history with. We all... Handle exes in a variety of productive and not so productive ways... and we hadn’t had The Talk about our relationship at that point.”
“I’m not trying to shame or shun him,” Santana argued.
“Then I’m sorry. I’m not really sure what you want.”
“I want to see someone worth Kurt.”
Adam nodded, as though that answer was more acceptable. “And you find me lacking?”
“How can you agree with everything everybody says all the time? That’s bullshit. You’re hiding something, or you’re a coward.”
“Well, I’m not a prostitute, although I might’ve been flattered if you thought I was attractive enough. And I’m not a drug dealer, or a house elf, or a servant,” Adam said in a quick, summary tone. “I’m actually a secret student at a musical arts school.”
Santana rolled her eyes with a groan.
“I’m from Essex, which you’ve never heard of, and I have dual citizenship in England and the States.”
“Good.” Santana drew nearer. Then she went over to the sauce to stir it. “So you won’t be disappearing back to another country in three months.”
“Hardly. I’ll have to find employment. Second employment. I have a job ‘round the corner from my apartment to help pay the bills. I’d have Kurt over more, but I’m currently in a crazier living situation than you three. There are six Apples living at my place.”
“Apples? Oh, the college Gleeks?”
“Gleeks! Oh, that’s marvelous.” Adam chuckled. “Yes, them. They circle in and out. Rent is ridiculous in this city, especially closer to Manhattan.”
“Tell me about it. So, no rich daddies to pay your bills?”
“My daddy lives in Jersey. He moved there with his second wife, and I haven’t seen him in two years. Like Kurt, I’m on a tuition scholarship which pays nothing for course fees or materials, or living expenses. My mum helps when she can, but more often, in the form of care packages. Otherwise, I have to be a big boy all on my own.” He paused. “I have a sister in Essex. She has two kids... I’ve never been married... Though I’ve assured Kurt he isn’t the only gay man in New York with ex-boyfriend baggage by a long shot.”
“Okay.” Santana sucked in her cheeks. How normal could this guy be?
“What else do you want to know?”
She thought for a minute. “What bugs you? You can’t be this happy all the time.”
“To be honest, I’m a little worried that happiness is so bothersome to you.” He pulled out the dough and started to knead it. “And I’m not.”
“So what pisses you off?”
Adam let out a deep sigh. Santana rolled her tongue around in her cheek.
“Did you really think Brody was a ‘sweet’eart’?”
“He was kind to me. And he was fair with Kurt during Midnight Madness. And he’s as far from homophobic as I’ve ever seen a straight guy. And... barring the nude morning Kurt told me about, I never saw him do anything really that strange. He had some odd ideas about how to ‘make it’ in the business, but we’re all under a lot of pressure... And it’s hard to be all on your own...” Adam licked his lips. “I think it was very wrong of him to not tell her. Very wrong, and careless. But I think that it’s more sad than laughable that he had to do that in the first place.”
“Oh, aren’t you so precious and understanding.” When he said nothing, she turned and crossed her arms. “But you prefer to see the best in people.”
“I try,” he said quietly.
“But with me you can’t?” Santana smirked. “You can say it. I’m a bitch. And proud.”
“I see good things in you. You value honesty and forthrightness, which I have to respect. You’re a fierce defender and... I think deep down you’re extremely caring, maybe even maternal. You’re a very good friend to Rachel.” Adam started flattening the dough, but didn’t look up. “I’m not sure that she...”
He trailed off and went quiet. Santana tilted her head to the side.
“You’re not going to stop, are you? I’d’ve just surprised Kurt at school and taken him to dinner, if I’d known my evening would involve a detailed and extremely boring interrogation. I’m not interesting, Santana. I have no secrets worth bothering with.” Adam suddenly pressed both palms into the dough. “I’m not even good at verbal sparring. You win. Okay?”
Santana pressed her lips into a line. Adam stood still for a moment, then brushed his floury hands off on his jeans and headed for the chair in the tv area, and grabbed his coat and beanie.
“Hey!” Santana quickly maneuvered herself between him and the door. “I’m not trying to run you off. I’ll shut up and watch tv or something until Lady Hummel gets home.”
Oh, that got a reaction. His jaw squared again, and there was a little flicker of resistance in his eyes.
“Oh. I am what pisses you off.”
“No!” Adam looked back behind him for some reason, then down at his feet. He sighed, fanning his hands in the air. “Look, I’m not trying to-”
“TRY TO,” Santana ordered.
Adam swallowed. “Fine.” He tossed his coat back on the chair and crossed his arms. “A little bit ago, before I left to visit friends upstate and after the snowstorm, Kurt and I were coming here from NYADA, and he’d had... a particularly difficult day. People laughed at him in acting class- he wouldn’t say what happened exactly- and his dance class... July was out and it was being run by a few upper classmen, and they told Kurt that he needed to stop dancing like a ‘damn fairie’ unless he only wanted to play roles in Queer as Fuck the Musical.”
Santana let out a shriek of laughter.
Adam’s lips pressed into a line.
Santana shrugged. “Sorry. I just think Kurt would like to write that one.”
Adam’s expression softened again. “And when we were on the bus, he got his arse grabbed, so I stood behind him the rest of the way.”
Santana composed herself. She’d been on the other end of a subway grope enough times herself.
“He told me a bit about being harassed in school on the walk back, and I stayed close. And when we’d finally gotten back here, Kurt had almost seemed to relax. Then we opened the door. Rachel was making noises that would make a dog cry-” He paused to grimace, and Santana smiled. “-and you said, ‘About time you pranced on home, Lady Hummel.’”
Santana narrowed her eyes. “What? So?”
“I try to see the best in people, Santana, I do. But the things that you say sometimes are so ugly.” Adam point his finger at the door. “You’ll remember that Kurt turned right around and went back into that hallway, and I followed him. And what you didn’t see, was him sliding to the ground, and covering his face, and just being quiet, and still. And I sat with him and held him because he didn’t want to go in, and he couldn’t go back out that day.”
He took a breath, and his eyes were shining slightly. “Some days, everything outside these doors is so harsh. I wish you would find something else ‘funny’ to call him that wasn’t quite so like the things we put up with out there. Sometimes, Santana, it’s just too much and it’s not funny anymore!”
Santana slowly tilted her head back, and she bit her lip. Then she stormed over to the futon. “You’re wrong about being good at arguing.”
“I didn’t mean to-”
“Can it. You’ve talked. Don’t backpedal now.” Santana flopped down and huffed. “Okay. So. Look, that name isn’t meant the way you’re making it out. It’s like... A title. Like, fancy.”
“Like when the footballers called him Fancy?” Adam leaned forward but didn’t come closer.
“No! Like... It’s just a thing I call him, okay? Like... someone proper. Like ladies are.”
“Because of how the cheer coach called him?”
“NO.”
“I’m not trying to be thick about this. I genuinely don’t get how this is any different. Maybe it’s a cultural shock? But I don’t think even if Kurt gets it, that makes that much of a difference on a day like that.”
“I don’t mean it to be the snark that breaks his back!” Santana crossed her arms tightly and threw one leg over the other. Why did Rachel and Kurt have to be so stupidly sensitive? Why couldn’t they just get what she was saying?
Adam watched her, quietly.
“I’ll find another nickname.”
“Really?” Adam sounded so genuinely surprised that Santana threw her head back and laughed.
“Thinking the best of people’s hard sometimes, huh?”
“I just... Didn’t expect you to understand.”
“I understand. Really? Look at me.” Santana motioned to herself. “Like, for real, white boy? You don’t think I can’t guess how that feels? I’m a lesbian, and I’m hot, and people not only can’t tell if I’m Mexican, Porta Rican, Black, or Native American, they feel like it’s perfectly okay to ask and make racist comments in front of me and make endless comments about my tits and ass. ”
Adam laughed softly. “Sorry, I uh...”
“Whatever. It’s not a deal. Don’t want the little prince to not be able to come home. Who’s gonna clean if he doesn’t?” Santana looked down and spread her palms over her legs. She should change into some comfy clothes. “Y’know, I hate it when he does this crap. I should have known he was uncomfortable and not saying anything. Like, he has this thing?” She looked up at Adam. “And he doesn’t tell anybody about it, and Rachel and I find out, right? And he’s super embarrassed, even though, like, who cares about your stupid thing as long as it makes you happy?”
Adam stared at her, baffled.
“And why couldn’t you just say, I’m lonely, could you shut up about your arias or your man-whore boyfriend or your ridiculous self-induced drama and give me a hug already? Or maybe, I had a bad day, okay, shut up for a while? He hates so much to just ask for help, and Rachel always is like, ‘Wah. You don’t like me,’ so I know when to reassure her that I’m just being a bitch and she’s still my friend and I don’t mean it. But Kurt doesn’t... He just snipes back or hides...” Her voice petered out. She balled her fists and was still for a moment. “People are hard.”
“That’s true.” Adam came closer and sat next to her.
“The thing is, Kurt can usually hold his own. You know, against people who are really out to hurt him,” Santana told him.
“So I hear.”
“But there was one guy who really got to him. And it wasn’t just because Karofsky was so special. It was a team effort for McKinley just being completely horrible nonstop.” Santana let her head fall back and stared at the high ceiling of the loft. “They just... break you down.”
Adam nodded.
She dipped her head and wiped tears where they escaped from one eye, as discretely as she could. She wasn’t going to talk about how hard it was for her back home, not at school, because no one had threatened her life, so how could she talk about it? But still...
Adam’s large hand touched her back and rubbed, gently. They were so big. It was like her father comforting her when she was small, and the boys in the neighborhood had started teasing her for being such a tomboy. Santana looked at him, and as she lifted her head, he moved his strong hand along her back, pressing against the knots that had formed as the day had gone on.
Okay, he was no Bruce, but trying to comfort her after all that was kind of sweet. He didn’t even look mad. Just worried.
“Do you ever regret trying to look on the ‘bright side of life’?” Santana asked.
“Oh. Yeah.” Adam pressed his lips together and creased his eyes.
He was wrong. He had some interesting stories to tell.
“How about we keep that gourmet sauce from burning while you finish this luxurious massage you’ve started?” Santana rose. “Are you really gay? Are you sure you’re not bi?”
Adam chuckled. “No, I’m not. I don’t even have much experience with girls. I’m not really one for approaching people.”
“How come? Most dudes like the muscles, right?” Santana led the way and peered over the sauce before giving it a stir. It was sticking a little to the bottom of the pan, but it seemed okay. “I changed my mind. Go beat the dough. Kurt’ll be home in about thirty minutes, and we could get these cued up to come right outta the oven just as he sashays his tight little butt through the door.”
“Yes, m’am.”
“Say. Why don’t you ask guys out? Or girls?”
“Never saw myself that much of a prize, I suppose. My first boyfriend... Well. I’m not sure I should call him that. He was never out. He went from the closet to the chapel. Played football- soccer- at our school. And... Anyway, I just have a hard time making the move.”
“He was a douchebag?” Santana tasted the sauce and nodded with approval. It had a little kick to it!
“You... Could say that. I was not the strapping lad I am now. And he... Well... he and his friends...” Adam set out the dough and started patting it.
Santana looked over her shoulder.
“I eventually just left. But I believed for a long time that he’d come out for me. That him joining his friends in roughing me up was just... It was a thing he’d had to do.” Adam’s large hands stilled. “When we’re young, we’re so vulnerable, you know? I say that like I’m an old man. Maybe sometimes I feel old, but... We feel like we don’t deserve to have people treat us the way we know is right. I don’t know. I know it was weak to let Steven keep playing me, especially after he’d hurt me...”
“You know now if I ever see a British bloke hassling you, I’m gonna go all Lima Heights on ‘em, right?” Santana said.
Adam smiled.
“Oh, God.” She threw her hands in the air and looked at Adam wide-eyed.
“What? What is it?”
“You were Adam and Steve! It was Adam and Steve!”
Adam threw his head back and laughed. “Yes! Oh, and it was not good, darling. Let me tell you.”
“Not even that part?” she asked in a lascivious tone.
Adam shook his head and came over to check the sauce. “Oh. Oh, darling. No.”
Santana wanted to laugh some more. Joke it off. But then there was something about the way his blond, messy curls hung in his face, and the thought of someone, probably a lot of someones, taking advantage of what looked less and less like just deliberate optimism, and more of a super rare natural sweetness.
And it just really pissed her off when people took advantage of people like that.
Okay, she wouldn’t completely be convinced that Bruce wasn’t the one for Kurt, but maybe Adam had some merits.
***
The entire apartment smelled of heavenly baked pizza as Santana sat on the futon with Adam, exposing him to The Facts of Life and telling him about the musical she was planning with Kurt. That was when the loft door swung open, and Kurt entered, a little slumped over, but not as cranky as he could possibly be.
“Satan, dearest, you left your check and schedule at the restaurant. I picked them up for you.” Kurt set the papers on the table by the front door.
Santana smiled and pushed herself up from the futon. “Aw, yay. Money.”
“You know I-” Kurt spotted Adam and dropped his bag on the floor. “Adam!”
“Heeey!” Adam bounded up and over to Kurt.
His strong arms wrapped around Kurt, who almost disappeared into his embrace. His head rested on Adam’s shoulder, a frown marring his brow.
One of those bad days? Santana wondered. Would he ever just say it?
“Your house elf of a boyfriend made dinner,” Santana breezed.
“House elf?” Kurt arched a brow but didn’t open his eyes or move from Adam’s arms.
Santana walked over to pick up her check. In the pile was a flyer for an open casting call... for a burlesque show. “You trying out for this, Lay- uh... La Booty Grande?”
Adam’s brows shot up at her horrible mid-course correction. Kurt laughed as he sagged into Adam.
“No, La Booty Supreme.” He wiggled his hips. “I picked that up from a guy in dance class. I figured you’d get the part without even trying. I know you’re not a Theatre Queen like the rest of us.” Kurt turned in Adam’s arms and just leaned back on him. Adam slipped his arms around Kurt’s waist. “You’re the best at saaaaxy here. You don’t have to do it, but I thought it would be fun for you, maybe make some money. It’s risque, but not like stripping or cage dancing or anything.”
“Yeah?” Santana looked down at the flyer again. It had a picture of a gorgeous woman dancing in a super elaborate costume, with a big fan made of feathers. “This kinda seems like your bag. With all the exotic bird feathers.”
Kurt chuckled. “Maybe. I dunno.”
“I’ll try out if you do,” she said.
“Oh, now you’re just trying to make me happy,” Adam said. “You know that’s not too hard to do.”
She met his eye with a smile.
The timer went off, and Adam moved toward the kitchen, still connected to Kurt.
“I got something to show you, Doctor Who,” Santana announced.
“Oh?” Adam was bent over the oven and pulling out the pizza.
Kurt looked over to her, and his eyes widened as she went to go get Ellen. Adam rose just as she started to skip forward with Ellen hugging around her shoulders.
“Oh... Oh, what is that?” And on cue, his lips spread into a smile.
“This is Ellen. She’s my girlfriend pillow.” She sashayed forward, giving Kurt a wicked grin.
The mirth had drained from his face and he looked like he was trying to kill her with his eyes.
“Ohhh...” Adam set the pizza down on top of the oven, turned the heat off, and walked over to get a good look at it. “This is... wow.”
“You gonna pillow-shame me now, house elf?”
“No, I’m just marveling that someone thought to sell this. It’s brilliant, right? Is it comfortable?”
“Yeah. Wanna try?” She lifted Ellen up for him.
Kurt’s eyes remained wide, looking back and forth at them with blazing red cheeks. Adam took the pillow and placed it around his shoulders.
“Mm. This is pretty comfortable.” Adam frowned and smiled at once. Then he lifted it up and looked back at Kurt, as though slightly embarrassed.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” Kurt asked quietly.
“No? Honestly, maybe you should get one.”
Santana bounced up and down behind Adam’s back and pointed at Kurt with Ellen’s hand.
“Why do you say that?” Kurt asked a little defensively.
“Sweetheart. You have such trouble sleeping,” Adam said with concern. “But no matter. Whatever makes you happy.”
Kurt raised his brows, and took Adam’s hand. “That... would be you.”
Adam moved closer, and Santana rolled her eyes and turned away as they closed in to kiss one another. After a moment, she said, loudly, “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“Ahem. Yes,” Adam muttered.
Adam moved towards the plates and Kurt went for the cutlery. Santana went to pour them all some wine.
To top everything off, the pizza was really good. They were in the land of awesome pizza and Santana still might consider being extra nice to Adam to make him cook (or blackmailing him). And Adam cuddled with Kurt throughout dinner, draping his big arm around Kurt’s shoulders, and whispering in his ear. And Kurt leaned against him like he was some kind of big couch cushion.
When Santana was done with her pizza, she set her plate aside, took a sip of her wine, and draped her leg over Kurt’s. Kurt looked at her skeptically, and then reached out and took her hand, carding their fingers together. Adam played with her hair, watching her carefully, like she might scratch him.
But she didn’t. She leaned into Kurt and enjoyed the stillness as the three of them watched their power ladies on TV.
It was hard to want to move on, especially when she couldn’t imagine her life without Brittany, even if she’d been living it for some time now. Something that she’d done to herself out of the inability to bear the hurt it would cause Brittany (and another reason her respect for the greasestain had gone to absolute zero). It wasn’t like she couldn’t land another girl. She could, and fast. She’d had offers even at the gayest diner in North America. But stepping away from that, and wanting another organism in her life, that was hard.
She wondered if Kurt had felt that way back when he’d ordered that pillow and then weirdly hid it from Rachel for months. As a bonus, that other organism could have hurt just as much as letting go of the last one. Santana knew that more than ever. Losing Brittany. Almost losing Kurt and Rachel for that toxic douchebag Brody (she didn’t care if the Hufflepuff though he was a sweetheart).
“Are you okay?” Kurt whispered in a soft, high voice.
“Shut up.” Santana looked away and he gave her his “don’t be sad” kitty face. “I’m fine. I’m just... You guys are so gross.”
“I know,” Kurt said. He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
Rachel was easy. Kurt was hard. And scary, when he broke out of his whirlwind world of work and self-improvement and felt exactly what she was thinking. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like people knowing exactly what her soft, squishy parts looked like. Even when she loved them. The only person that had ever been easy with was Brittany, and even then, Santana had sometimes lashed out at her.
“I sent a link of this to Brittany. She hasn’t watched it yet,” Santana said suddenly.
“When she does, tell me what part she wants to play,” Kurt said. He looked up at Adam. “We’re writing a Facts of Life musical. So Santana can play Jo.”
Adam laughed and grinned at her.
“You laugh. It’s gonna sweep the... I don’t even know what the Broadway metaphors are. You stage queens fill it in.” Santana blinked, then looked over at Kurt, who was chuckling.
“I’ll get my tiara.” Kurt smirked, then turned to Adam to start telling him the story of how he became prom queen.
“That crown was so supposed to be mine,” Santana huffed.
“Eat it, and gag, Santana,” Kurt shot back.
She squeezed his hand. She bet he’d show Adam his pillowy competition tonight.
Santana wasn’t ready to move away from Ellen yet. But these saps made her wonder, when she got the strength to do so, what it would really be like to open up to someone new.
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