Rating: NC-17 for the last bit, PG-13 before that
Summary: Glee/Dr. Horrible AU Fusion fic. “I still don't understand why people insist that just because you're a supervillain you have to wear the same rubber outfit every day. Just because everyone else seems to lack imagination in the costume department doesn't mean I have to.”
“So you gonna tell me what's been going on with you the past couple of weeks?” Blaine asked abruptly on their next lunch date.
Kurt brushed his bangs back artfully and feigned a sophisticated air of indifference.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Blaine's eyebrows crinkled together in a way that said bullshit, because Blaine was far too polite to actually say it out loud.
“Kurt,” he huffed.
Kurt arched an eyebrow and began inspecting his nails.
“Fine,” Blaine grumbled, spreading his hands, palms face out in front of his chest. “Where do I begin?” His hands turned in towards each other again so he could tick things off on his fingers. “You insist we meet in a hole-in-the-wall diner on the other side of town from Breadstix.”
“It's quaint,” Kurt said. “I thought you'd be charmed by the vinyl tables and overall grungy décor.”
“You show up to said establishment wearing a bowler hat-”
“It's a Louis Vuitton!” Kurt interjected.
“-and the false mustache?” Blaine asked.
“Is Dior. Seriously, do you live under a rock devoid of fashion? Don't you read Vogue?”
Blaine rolled his eyes.
“On top of that,” he continued, “you made plans with me twice this weekend that you broke at the last minute.”
“I told you,” Kurt said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I had to wash my hair-”
“Yeah, and that's only a feasible excuse NEVER, much less twice,” Blaine insisted.
“Have you seen my hair?” Kurt said, pointing to it in a slightly accusatory manner. “Can't you tell how much work this takes?”
Blaine's eyes darted up quickly, then back to Kurt's face.
“And my wallet keeps beeping,” Blaine finished woefully. “And I don't know why.” He sighed, and his face collapsed into a sort of miserable befuddlement.
It was such an adorable expression that Kurt had the sudden and strange desire to tie ribbons in Blaine's hair. Kurt's mouth twitched.
“...How is that last one my fault?” he settled on asking instead, in order to distract himself from all the squishy feelings.
“I don't know,” Blaine said. “But it's been driving me crazy.”
Perhaps he'd gone a little overboard in his whole plan to keep Blaine as far away from Karofsky as possible. Moving their lunch locale to escape detection had been a must, but maybe he shouldn't have been so paranoid as to pick the only place within driving distance of McKinley where no one would be caught dead unless it was from food poisoning. The whole disguise thing had mostly been an excuse to wear his new hat (which was fabulous) and to satisfy a passing curiosity over whether he could pull off a mustache (which was inconclusive). Kurt had only set up fake plans with Blaine each night that weekend so Blaine would stay unavailable, leading to Karofsky's ultimate failure to implement his twisted cheerleader date-rape scenario.
Putting the tracking device in Blaine's wallet had most likely been overkill, but Karofsky had been threatening to attack Blaine with... with... girl bits. Kurt hadn't exactly been thinking straight (ha!) at the time.
Blaine still looked miserable. He just kept pouting at Kurt, which made him look completely ridiculous and overly dramatic, like Kurt had drop-kicked his puppy right in front of him. Yet it still had the effect of making Kurt want to give Blaine anything (seriously, he was compiling a list in his head and wondering if offering Blaine Australia would be too generous) so that Blaine would just stop looking so sad. It wasn't fair. Blaine already knew exactly how to play him, and it was disgusting how quickly Kurt buckled under the pressure. Kurt sighed and slumped back in his seat. He pulled the mustache off and shoved it into his pocket.
Something about serious conversations and false facial hair just didn't seem to mix.
“I'm sorry,” Kurt said. “I know I've been acting weird. But there are mitigating circumstances.”
“Like what?” Blaine asked.
“I've been having some trouble at school,” he admitted, hoping he could navigate the minefield of half-truths without sounding too crazy. “It's hard enough trying to complete this, uh... project I've been working on, but then there's-” my arch-nemesis stealing the boy of my dreams “-well, you know. Friendship drama. And getting slammed into lockers or dumpster-tossed every day certainly doesn't help.”
“I guess I thought,” Kurt continued, “that maybe if I could, I don't know, control certain things a little bit more. Maybe it would be easier. I'm sorry if it just made me act more erratically than usual.”
“Kurt,” Blaine said gently. “It's fine. But, you know you can talk to me about this stuff, right?”
Kurt looked down at the table.
“I know,” he said. “It's just not that big of a deal.”
Blaine leaned forward and his knee pressed against Kurt's under the table. Kurt startled, but then he leaned into the touch. Blaine smiled softly.
“Yes it is,” Blaine said. “It's hard to be unapologetically yourself in rural Ohio.”
Kurt nodded and sighed.
“Tell me about it,” he said, adjusting his hat. “I just wish I got a little more respect, you know? Like Fashionista.”
“The Designer of Destruction?” Blaine asked, eyes wide and shocked.
Kurt paused in horror at his slip up. His eyes darted back to the tabletop.
“I meant... Madonna,” Kurt amended lamely. “It's just kind of awful,” he rushed on, “having to look over my shoulder all the time. Always being on the defensive.”
Blaine winced in sympathy.
“Yeah, I remember how that was,” he said. “I know I wasn't as brave as you are about it. At the first opportunity, I bolted.”
Kurt opened his mouth to protest, because seriously, Blaine was one of the most decent, kind, courageous people he'd ever known, but Blaine held up a hand.
“All I'm saying is that you're doing the right thing,” Blaine said. “Prejudice is just ignorance, Kurt. And you're teaching them every day, just by being you. Don't lose that.”
Kurt's chest tightened, and the tingling warmth radiating out from where Blaine's knee was touching his seemed to intensify. Kurt cleared his throat. Blaine just watched him with warm eyes.
“Thanks,” Kurt said. He looked down at his lap. “But don't sell yourself short.” He took a deep breath, his face heating up in a blush. “Sometimes I feel the only reason I try so hard is because of you.”
When Kurt risked a glance up, Blaine was beaming at him. Kurt's stomach twisted pleasantly.
“Well,” Blaine said, letting out a small cough of embarrassment at the praise, “I'm glad you know you're not alone in this.”
“And you're sure you don't want to give me any details?” Blaine asked, gaze suddenly sharper, but no less kind. “There's no one I need to go have a stern discussion with?”
Kurt's stomach flipped over at the protective tone in Blaine's voice. The last thing Professor Porcelain needed was protecting, but the fact that Blaine wanted to be there for him like that, that Blaine cared that much- It was kind of amazing.
“I doubt talking will do any good,” Kurt said. “The details aren't important.” He smirked wickedly. “Besides, then all the mystery would be gone and where would that leave us?”
“Oh, I dunno,” he said, bumping his knee into Kurt's again. “I'm pretty sure I'd still find you fascinating even without all the intrigue.”
Kurt was absolutely positive that the grin that statement pulled out of him was spelling out how he felt about Blaine more effectively than a giant, blinking neon sign.
He was too busy being in love to care.
Riding the high of the fantastic (blatantly flirtatious) lunch he'd had with Blaine, Kurt spent the rest of the week finishing up his final adjustments on the Slush Ray. The newly refreshed resolve had him working around the clock. He had three major break-throughs and a successful test run in his backyard which led to a not-so-successful argument with his dad about the destroyed bushes.
In spite of a couple of hiccups here and there, he was confident that the Slush Ray was ready by Thursday. It was absolutely perfect timing; Coach Sylvester was dedicating the newest Cheerios trophy display case on Friday as a memorial to her continued excellence. Kurt would use the Slush Ray to destroy the ceremony, defeat Karofsky, and Blaine would realize what a fool he'd been and sweep Kurt into a romantic 1950s-movie-style kiss. Kurt wasn't really sure exactly how the last part of that would logically follow, but he had no doubt that it would.
In retrospect, it might not have been the best idea to rush into execution a mere day after finalizing the Slush Ray. His emotions had been the driving force behind it. Professor Porcelain was cold, calculating, and planned every possible contingency down to a fine point, but Kurt had allowed in a bit of sloppiness along with the hormones.
Unfortunately, he didn't realize his mistake until Karofsky threw a row of lockers at his face.
Kurt tried every excuse he could think of to get out of going to lunch with Blaine the next Tuesday. After what Kurt had tried to pull the week before, Blaine wouldn't have any of it. When Kurt mistakenly tried to pull the classic “I don't think I'll be in school. I'm feeling sick. *Cough* *Cough*” excuse, Blaine had gotten so concerned he'd started talking about coming over after school and bringing Kurt soup or something, and really, it was probably just better for everyone involved if Kurt bit the bullet and faced the music. And he knew he was still a little loopy from the whole locker-to-the-face incident because he was mentally mixing his metaphors.
He met Blaine at the restaurant (still not Breadstix, but markedly better than the last dive they'd met at) and walked over to the table where Blaine was sitting. He tried not to hold himself too stiffly and give the game away early. He slid into the booth.
“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine greeted him warmly. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know, same old,” Kurt said, falsely bright. He laughed. It sounded shrill even to his own ears. Blaine's lips quirked in bemused consternation.
“Okay, I hate to tell you this, but you're a terrible liar,” Blaine said.
Kurt wanted to correct Blaine and say he was a fantastic liar actually, he kept heaps of things perfectly secret. It wasn't his fault that Blaine made him feel completely fragile, incapable of keeping up the front. He bit his lip instead. Blaine raised his eyebrows.
“And not that they aren't fantastic sunglasses- Audrey Hepburn, right?” Blaine said. Kurt nodded and preened a bit. “But is it really necessary to wear them indoors?”
“Yes, actually. It's very necessary,” Kurt said. “I... I got new contacts and they make my eyes sensitive.”
Blaine's brow furrowed.
“You don't wear contacts, Kurt.”
“Yes, hence, new contacts,” Kurt said.
“Seriously, what did I just say about you being an awful liar?”
“Fine,” he said, pulling the sunglasses off in a single sharp motion.
Blaine gasped. Kurt winced.
“It's not that bad, is it?” Kurt asked quietly, incapable of meeting Blaine's eyes. He reached a hand up and gently prodded his black eye. It throbbed softly; he could feel it blooming blue and purple all the way to his temple.
Well, silver lining, at least he'd found a shirt that matched.
“What happened?” Blaine asked, voice strangled.
“You wouldn't believe me if I said I walked into a door?” Kurt said, hesitant.
Blaine stared at him incredulously.
“If I didn't buy the 'washing my hair' excuse, what makes you think I would buy that?” he asked.
“Yes, okay, point,” Kurt grumbled. He looked down at his lap, vainly wishing he could sink into the cheap tile floor. He startled when he felt warmth against his cheek.
Kurt raised his head at the soft pressure from Blaine's fingertips. Blaine was stretched across the table, hand cupping Kurt's cheek softly, tentatively fluttering against the edges of the bruise. Kurt sat, stunned, eyes numbly searching Blaine's face for a sign, what was this, what was Blaine doing, what did it mean –
Blaine was looking at him warmly, but there was something in his eyes Kurt couldn't identify. Something delicate and sad and... Kurt jerked away in humiliation when he realized what it was. That was pity. Pity etched deeply into Blaine's gorgeously emotive face. Kurt knew he'd turned into something of a pathetic failure recently, but the fact that Blaine knew it too, that all Kurt would ever be to Blaine was some kind of charity case – Kurt felt something inside of him snap.
Blaine backed off at Kurt's reaction, leaned back into his seat, face sliding into confusion. Suddenly, the span of polished wood between them seemed to stretch miles. It was like the table was a symbol for everything that was between them; Karofsky, Kurt's double-life, Blaine's inability to wake up and take a hint about Kurt's very obvious feelings, Blaine thinking Kurt would actually want his condescending sympathy. Kurt could feel ice creeping up his spine. He took a deep breath to compose himself.
“It's nothing, Blaine,” he said, eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, face perfectly blank. “Just a little trouble at school. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.”
Blaine's worried expression took on a bit of a desperate edge.
“Kurt, someone physically assaulted you,” he said, like Kurt was an exceptionally slow child. Kurt's spine straightened even more, pulling tighter. “You can't just expect me to accept that as an answer.”
“Yes, I can,” Kurt said. “I expect that as my friend, you'll respect my privacy.”
So maybe the emphasis on 'friend' made him sound bitter. Kurt was past caring at this point.
“I am your friend, Kurt,” Blaine said earnestly. “That's why I'm so worried.”
Kurt held his menu up between them.
“I'm sure you'll get over it,” Kurt said, tone final, hoping Blaine would take the hint already.
Silence stretched out. Kurt turned a laminated page. He wasn't really reading it, anyway.
“Why are you doing this?” Blaine asked finally, hushed.
Kurt darted a glance over his menu.
“Doing what?” he asked.
“This,” Blaine said, gesturing between them. “Shutting me out. Kurt, what's wrong?”
And that was the ten million dollar question, wasn't it? Everything suddenly defined itself, crystal clear. Kurt didn't have time for this. If he wanted to defeat Karofsky, if he wanted to get the attention of the Society of Maniacal Fabulosity, if he wanted to get the hell out of this awful Ohio town, he couldn't afford to be distracted. Somewhere along the way he'd managed to lose his perspective. He needed to get it back.
“Blaine,” he said gently, lowering the menu, “I really don't want to talk about it, okay?”
Blaine opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. He sighed.
“Okay,” he said. He looked down at where his hands were folded together on the table. “You don't have to tell me anything. I just want to know you'll be safe. It is being taken care of, right?”
Kurt smiled villainously.
For the next couple of weeks, Kurt threw himself into reinventing of the Slush Ray. He channeled all the frustration and anger from his recent failure and by the end of the second week, he was left holding a beautiful culmination of cutting edge technology, weaponry, and couture design.
Seriously, it was obscene what Kurt could pull off with a blow torch and a bedazzler. He'd really outdone himself.
When he missed the first lunch with Blaine, there'd been a few phone calls. Kurt put the ringer on silent after the first three, only checking it once a day to delete all the voicemails without listening to them. By the second week, Mercedes started sending concerned, then increasingly bitchy text messages. Kurt stopped reading them. If he kept himself focused, he'd be able to block out the guilt. Too much was at stake, now. He refused to be diverted. This time, he wasn't going to fail.
This time, Karofsky was going down.
Kurt winced from his position hidden under the bleachers when a particularly loud series of excited cheers rippled through the student body. The Cheerios finished executing a dangerous twisting display of super strength and speed. Sneakers started stomping rhythmically above him, matched to the unnecessary top 40's hits pumping through the speakers. The concussive impact was vibrating his hair out of place.
Kurt hated pep rallies.
He peeked out between the wooden slats of the seventh row of benches. It seemed like things were wrapping up; Coach Sylvester had finished her speech about instating a mandatory three protein shakes a day diet regime for all freshman girls. The Cheerios filed out. Principal Figgins was stepping off the stage, clearing Kurt's sightline straight to where Karofsky and the other heroes were standing in the spotlight, right where they stood during every school assembly.
Kurt grinned and pressed the button.
With a series of loud clicks, metal grates slid over the doorways. Coach Sylvester's feud with the New Directions over control of the gymnasium had caused her to install a somewhat paranoid emergency lockdown system, and Kurt's swipe card had given him access. He owed Mercedes the biggest thank you ever when this was over. And today it finally would be.
The ensuing murmur of confusion and slight tone of fear was music to Kurt's ears. Time to build the crescendo. He carefully took aim and pulled the trigger. There was a cacophony of screams and a mad rush for the locked doors. Kurt pressed another button to open the emergency exit, most of the students rushing out before Kurt locked it again.
He could already hear the Cheerios trying to pound their way back in. He didn't have much time.
Kurt stepped out from behind the bleachers, walking unaffected through the leftover throng of terrified students. He smirked when they parted around him, eyes wide at the sight of Professor Porcelain strolling up to the stage. Kurt pointed the Slush Ray randomly at the small crowd to drive them back even more. His thigh-high military boots slipped deceptively lightly up the stairs.
“Professor Porcelain!” Golden Star said, struggling to free herself from the frozen prison of slushie that was encasing her legs, trapping her and the other heroes, immobile, on the stage. “Only you could be so bold.”
Kurt rolled his eyes and stepped into the spotlight.
“You really need to work on your dramatic one-liners if you're resorting to stealing them from science fiction movies,” he said.
“What's your game, dude?” Frankenteen asked, trying to use his super-stretch power to contort his way out of the ice. It held him fast. Kurt smirked.
“Oh, I'm through playing, Finn.”
“I'll be playing my fist through your face when I get out of here,” Puckzilla growled.
“You'll get out when I let you out,” he said archly. “But first...”
Kurt spun around to point the Slush Ray at Karofsky. The neanderthal's face was practically purple with anger. He started trying to punch his way out of the frozen slush. Kurt ignored his futile attempts to free himself.
With a flick of his wrist, Kurt dialed the Slush Ray down in intensity and pulled the trigger. A stream of regular grape slushie spewed out and hit Karofsky in the nose. The hero stopped punching with a gasp, a stunned look crossing his face before he let out a scream of rage.
“Do not push me, Professor!” he said, fists clenching. Kurt smirked and hit him with another, larger dose of frozen artificial flavoring. The murmuring of the students left in the gym quieted. Karofsky sputtered into the sudden silence.
“...You're pathetic,” Kurt said venomously. “Nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are. A bully that hides behind his strength like it somehow makes him into anything but an uncouth brute.” Kurt hit him with slushie again. “Well, your strength can't help you now, Karofsky. How does it feel to be helpless, humiliated?”
Every time Karofsky opened his mouth to speak, Kurt hit him with another stream of frozen grape. Karofsky stopped trying to talk, too busy spitting out the slushie, meaty hands reaching up to wipe it away from his eyes. He shook in silent rage.
Kurt lost track of time, a strangely detached sense of satisfaction filling him coldly. His finger clenched whitely on the trigger.
“Okay, so this is getting kind of intense,” Wheelz said from behind him. Kurt spun around. Wheelz flinched under his glare. “I mean, how long are you planning on... keeping at this? Don't you think he's had enough?”
Kurt breathed in sharply through his nose.
“I don't think he'll ever have enough,” Kurt bit out softly. “I don't think anything could make up for it. Don't you have any idea what he really is? Don't you see the way he trips freshman in the hallway, slushies nerds in the face, dumpster tosses the kids who aren't good enough?” Kurt crossed his arms and sneered.
“I suppose you're all just so pleased with the little hierarchy you've built here,” he continued. Nobody dared to meet his accusing glare. “All of you,” he swept his gaze over the New Directions, the students in the audience, “you're complicit, letting this... this monster parade around, calling him a hero while he-” Kurt cut himself off. He closed his eyes briefly to steady himself.
And then he heard the sound of shattering ice. There was a tension-filled pause.
“...That's not a good sound,” Kurt choked out, turning around just in time to get a punch to the gut.
He doubled over, wheezing, the Slush Ray slipping from his fingers. Karofsky kicked him in the shin, and Kurt went down on one knee. Gulping in breaths, he looked up to where Karofsky was looming over him. Kurt watched with a sort of resigned horror as Karofsky picked up the Slush Ray.
“Nice toy you've got here,” Karofsky said. “Damn thing kept me held down longer than anything has managed to before.”
He pointed it at Kurt's face. Kurt stared, terror building up in his stomach. Slowly, Karofsky's chubby fingers turned the dial all the way up. A safety warning beeped harshly as a light flashed next to the sights.
“Wait,” Kurt said. “That's the highest setting, you could-”
Karofsky cut him off by reaching out, lightning fast, to grab Kurt's throat. He dragged Kurt back onto his feet. Vaguely, past the swimming in his head from loss of air, Kurt heard the members of New Directions shouting out protests behind him.
“I'm through with your warnings,” Karofsky growled. “You've been nothing but a pain in the ass since day one.” He let go of Kurt's throat with a sharp push. Kurt fell to his knees, brain screaming to get away, but his chest kept heaving, he couldn't move- “I'm just eliminating the problem.”
About ten things happened at once.
The Slush Ray let out a high keening blast as it went off. Kurt felt himself get shoved to the side. His head slammed into the floor as he fell, and there was a series of loud shattering noises as the members of New Directions inexplicably broke free of the ice all within milliseconds of one another. Over the throbbing in Kurt's ears and in spite of his pulsing, darkening vision, he saw Karofsky get taken down by Puckzilla. Vamp Girl stomped a boot against his neck, and Golden Star pointed her sparking fingertips menacingly towards his groin. Frankenteen lumbered over to Kurt.
“You okay?” he asked. “Kurt...”
Kurt lifted a hand to his face. His impact with the floor had snapped the glasses in two. He let Finn help him up.
“I'm fine,” Kurt said. “What-?”
Then his eyes snapped onto Wheelz, who was hovering worriedly over a figure on the floor. Kurt felt all the blood drain out of his face. He stumbled over.
“He pushed you out of the way,” Wheelz said when Kurt fell to his knees next to him.
“No,” Kurt breathed. “Oh, God, no, no, no.”
Kurt's hands hovered over Blaine's chest, his eyes burning as panic raced through him. Blaine was heaving in shaking, halting breaths through the ice that coated him from neck to hips. It creaked as it burrowed deeper into Blaine's skin.
“What are you doing here?” Kurt asked, running his fingers over the ice, trying to pry it off even though he knew it was useless. He'd designed the thing, after all.
“Was... I was worried,” Blaine gasped out. “Came to see, thought maybe I'd find you-”
Kurt shushed him. Blaine's usually bright, expressive eyes were dim, deliriously staring into the middle distance.
“Save your breath,” Kurt said, lips numb in fear. “Blaine, just keep... we'll get you help.”
He looked around desperately, but there was nothing. There was nothing he could do. He gripped Blaine's cold fingers in his, felt a tear slip down his face to fall and freeze against Blaine's chest. Blaine struggled, gripped Kurt's hand tightly, managed to focus his eyes. He smiled up at Kurt softly. It made Kurt feel like he was the one dying.
“Hey, it's okay, Kurt,” Blaine said. “It'll be okay.” And then he closed his eyes. A final breath shuddered out, and Blaine lay completely still.
Someone was sobbing harshly. Kurt realized it was him.
“Oh, God,” Kurt said, palm raising against his mouth to try to press the sound back into his throat. “This isn't- this isn't happening. Blaine, you can't-”
Kurt felt a hand on his shoulder. Numbly, he turned around to see Golden Star looking at him sorrowfully. She had tears in her eyes.
“Kurt,” she said. “I am so sorr-”
The last syllable was broken off by another loud shattering noise. Kurt turned breathlessly back to Blaine. He blinked. The ice on Blaine's chest was breaking, shuddering before it sloughed off, swirling into crystalline patterns that flowed down from Blaine's neck and chest, skirting over his arms to fall against Blaine's palm where the whole mass spun, twirling until it formed a purple snowball.
Blaine heaved in a sharp gasp of air and sat up. Kurt fell numbly back.
“Whoa,” Blaine said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “That was a little trickier than I thought it would be.”
“I- it- what?!” he asked, heart pounding, completely off kilter. The room was spinning sickeningly. Kurt was shaking.
Blaine shrugged his shoulders, legs sprawled against Kurt's in their tangled position on the floor of the stage. He rubbed the back of his neck and winced.
“Well,” Blaine started awkwardly. “I guess maybe I should have told you earlier...”
He trailed off and looked at Kurt helplessly.
“Told me what?” Kurt asked.
Blaine took a deep breath, reached out and grabbed Kurt's hand. Warmth started to flow back into Kurt from the contact.
“Um... in some superhero circles...” Blaine said, “I'm known as the, uh, the Ice Queen.”
Kurt was sure his expression right then would be exactly the same if Blaine had sucker punched him. A million thoughts spun their way through his mind, answers to old questions slotting into place even as new ones arose, creating a garbled, fragmented mess of consciousness. Which is probably why Kurt's mouth seemed to detach completely from his brain.
“Oh my God,” Kurt said. “Could you get any gayer?”
Blaine broke into a startled laugh. He pulled Kurt forward onto his knees and into a hug.
Kurt buried his face in Blaine's shoulder and held on.
“Hey,” Blaine said, stepping into Kurt's room abruptly.
Kurt nearly slipped, his fingers coming dangerously close to the needle. He switched the sewing machine off.
“You scared me,” Kurt said. He took a deep breath and turned around. “Come for my weekly parole check in?”
“You know it's not like that,” Blaine said. “The National Syndicate of Heroism took the uniqueness of the situation into account. People are keeping an eye on you because they care, not because you're under house arrest.”
“It was a bit of an out of body experience hearing Coach Sylvester's rant about corruption amongst the Syndicate's ranks driving an innocent twelve year old milk maid into a life of crime,” Kurt said. “If it wasn't so insulting it would almost have been sweet.”
Blaine smiled and walked closer to Kurt's desk. He pulled out the chair next to Kurt's, swinging it around backwards and straddling it. He settled in and crossed his arms on top of the backrest. Blaine was always more... slouchy when he wasn't wearing his uniform. The t-shirt he was wearing and his position combined to pull Kurt's attention towards his (very nice) arms. Kurt forced his eyes away.
“What are you up to?” Blaine asked, tilting his head toward the sewing machine.
“Just working on some clothes for the homeless shelter,” Kurt explained.
Blaine shot him a confused look.
“Your assigned community service was to work for the soup kitchen, not make clothes,” he said.
“Yes, well,” Kurt said, tying off the thread, “just because they're homeless doesn't mean they have to look it.” He set the jacket he was in the middle of working on aside and leaned back. “Besides, with all my diabolical scheming put on hold, I've been bored. I'm only lucky they didn't give me the same punishment as Karofsky.” He smirked. “Not only is picking up trash on the highway deadly dull, but no one looks good in bright orange jumpsuits.”
Blaine rolled his chair closer and dropped his chin on top of his arms.
“Truer words were never spoken,” he said. “So, how's school been?”
Kurt turned towards Blaine and pursed his lips.
“Surprisingly decent, actually,” he said. “If I'd known going public about my supervillain persona would be so effective at scaring off all the assholes, I'd have confessed years ago.” He sighed. “Only downside is that the New Directions think we're best friends now. Golden Star has renewed her relentless quest to get me to join up. Even Mercedes has started going to their meetings. Apparently Rachel can be very persuasive when she wants to be.”
Blaine shifted around on his chair and affected a slightly sheepish expression.
“Yeah, well, you gotta admit,” Blaine said hesitantly, “this recent period of honest living has been good for you, don't you think?”
Kurt arched an eyebrow.
“Says the guy who neglected to tell me that he was able to make it to a weekly standing lunch date so suspiciously quickly because he can fly.”
“That's different,” he said. “Point is, you're not evil, Kurt. Sure, there's the occasional megalomaniacal tendency, but it seems like you only want to rule the world because you want to make it better.”
Kurt's brow furrowed.
“What's your point?”
“My point,” Blaine said, “is that the desire to help people – that's the driving force behind us superheroes too. At least the good ones. We're not as different as you think.”
There was a pause.
“In my experience,” Kurt said quietly, “the last thing I would want to be is a superhero.”
“Because of Karofsky?” Blaine asked. Kurt looked down at his lap. “You really think all heroes are like him, Kurt? You think I'm like him?”
“Of course not!” Kurt snapped. “You're absolutely nothing like hi-... oh.”
“Yeah,” Blaine said warmly. “See what I mean? We're not all bad. And I think we could learn something from you. We could work together if you’d trust us a bit more.”
“Most heroes haven't given me much reason to.”
Blaine sighed and reached out to grip Kurt's shoulder.
“I wish you would've trusted me, at least,” Blaine said. “Told me what was really going on. I still don't understand why you never told me about Karofsky. I could've helped, Kurt.”
Kurt smiled sadly.
“Yeah, well, he was your friend,” he said. “I... didn't want to force you to choose a side.”
Blaine's hand turned on Kurt's shoulder so that his fingertips could brush against Kurt's neck. Kurt did his best to keep very still. Maybe then the pounding of his heart wouldn't be so obvious.
“That's not all, though,” Blaine said. “You didn't want me to choose a side because you thought I'd take his.”
Kurt suddenly couldn't breathe. He looked away from Blaine. They were both quiet, Blaine's fingers stroking against Kurt's neck keeping him firmly rooted in the moment.
“Well, in case you hadn't noticed,” Blaine said, voice hushed, hesitant, “that was never a choice for me. I think... I think I've made it pretty clear that I'd jump in front of a bullet for you.”
Kurt tensed. His eyes met Blaine's.
“That is so not funny,” Kurt said.
“I wasn't joking,” Blaine said.
Kurt couldn't handle the gravity of the situation. He stood up, and Blaine's hand fell away. Kurt instantly missed it.
“Whatever,” Kurt said, sweeping a hand upwards dramatically, trying to keep his voice light. “You're just- just trying to seduce me into your do-gooder club.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he clamped it shut in embarrassment. What was it about Blaine's presence that always made him shove his foot in his mouth? Blaine stood up and pushed his chair away, moving closer until they were practically chest to chest. Kurt's eyes widened. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of Blaine, which was weird because he should be icy cold, shouldn't he?
“Wasn't planning on seducing you,” Blaine said, breathless, “but if you think that would work...”
He looked at Kurt questioningly, tentatively, almost like he was scared of what Kurt would do. Kurt realized suddenly that Blaine was scared, that he was actually offering Kurt something here, and holy shit this was actually happening-
Maybe it was the fact that Blaine looked so unsure, when Blaine never looked unsure about anything, but Kurt finally worked up the courage to act on his feelings. Letting out a shaky breath, Kurt leaned forward those last couple of inches and brushed their lips together gently. Blaine- there was no other word for it- Blaine melted, leaning farther into Kurt, his arms reaching up to wrap around his shoulders. Kurt's hands darted to Blaine's hips, fingers digging in tightly.
Blaine tilted his head up for another kiss, and then another, and then the kisses were longer, deeper, dragging and wet. Then Blaine nipped against Kurt's bottom lip, wrenching a sudden moan out of Kurt. Blaine's kisses were maddening and addictive, and they totally distracted Kurt from the fact that somehow Blaine had backed him up against his bed without him noticing.
Kurt fell back against the sheets with a brief, “Oomph.” Blaine followed him down, pressing more kisses against Kurt's lips as he moved to straddle Kurt's thighs. He stretched out fully on top of Kurt. Kurt's fingers buried themselves in Blaine's hair to pull him closer. Heat crashed through Kurt, a sharp want like he'd never felt before, even when he'd thought it was impossible to want Blaine any more than he already did.
Kurt pulled his lips away from Blaine's, fixing his mouth to the tender spot where Blaine's neck met his jaw. That spot had always driven Kurt crazy, and now he could actually do something about it.
“Oh, God, Kurt, so good,” Blaine gasped, twisting his hips down into Kurt's. It was incredible, Kurt felt like he was on fire, and he wanted more right now. With a keening whine, he dug his teeth into Blaine's skin and rubbed himself up against Blaine's thigh. The motion dragged an absolutely delicious noise out of Blaine, exactly as desperate as Kurt felt, but then all of the sudden Blaine was pulling away.
“Wait, what?” Kurt said, dazed, his lips hot and swollen with kisses. “What are you doing?” He tried to pull Blaine into another kiss, but Blaine turned his head away, panting, staying propped on his hands and knees over Kurt despite Kurt's attempts to drag him back down.
“Maybe we should slow down,” Blaine said, strangled voice sounding like he wanted to do anything but.
“Do you want to slow down?” Kurt asked a bit desperately, running his palms over Blaine's back in no particular pattern.
“No,” Blaine said, darting in for a fast, messy kiss. “No,” he said again when he pulled back, “But I don't want you to think- I don't want to take advantage-”
“Oh my God, Blaine,” Kurt groaned, heart thundering in his ears, “you are so, so not taking advantage. I have wanted this since pretty much the second I saw you.”
Blaine looked awed.
“Really?” he asked.
Kurt rolled his eyes.
“You are incredibly lucky I'm in love with you,” he said, “because you are an idiot. Shut up and kiss me.”
Blaine let out a whimpering moan and allowed himself to be drawn back in. Their hips slotted together and they started to move. Kurt could feel how hard Blaine was even through four layers of clothing. He bit his lip when Blaine started sucking kisses down his neck. Kurt raised his thigh up against Blaine, giving him something to move against. They writhed together on the bed until Blaine was practically riding Kurt's thigh, sharp and fast, Kurt's breath catching in his throat when Blaine started to lose it a little because it was quite possibly the hottest thing ever.
Almost on autopilot, Kurt reached down until he was grabbing Blaine's ass, pulling Blaine's hips down against Kurt's thigh tighter and faster. Blaine started to shudder, his fingers pressing so sharply into Kurt's hips that he was probably leaving bruises. He was moaning nearly continuously against Kurt's neck until his hips snapped one last time, stilling as they pressed against Kurt's thigh, and then Blaine was shaking apart in Kurt's arms.
The air punched out of Kurt, his hips making an aborted upwards motion, because, fuck, he'd just made Blaine come. Kurt didn't think it was possible to get this hard, but he was straining against his jeans, trying to get closer even though they were about as close as they could get.
“Kurt, Kurt, Kurt,” Blaine chanted brokenly, kissing against Kurt's collarbone where his shirt had gotten pushed aside. “You're amazing. Oh, God, I love you so much...”
And that was just a little too much for Kurt's teenage hormones to handle. He practically sobbed, still trying to get closer, burying his face against the juncture of Blaine's neck and shoulder and dropping desperate kisses against his skin.
“Blaine, please,” Kurt managed to gasp out.
“Yes, okay, c'mon,” Blaine said. “Let me,” he leaned back, palm against Kurt's chest pressing him against bed when he tried to follow.
He reached down and palmed Kurt through his jeans. Kurt threw his head back against the pillows, thrusting his hips up into Blaine's hand with a strangled shout. Blaine kept rubbing him in sharp circular jerks, his fingers reaching long and clever past Kurt's balls to stoke in between his thighs. Just when Kurt thought he couldn't possibly take anymore, Blaine snapped his button flies open shakily. In a single motion he slid down Kurt's body, mouth opening hot and wet against Kurt through his underwear, breathing raggedly, like he was just as desperate for it as Kurt was.
Blaine jerked the waistband of Kurt's boxers down just far enough to lap clumsily at the head of Kurt's cock, slick and hot, and that was all it took- everything exploded outwards, feeling so intensely, impossibly good Kurt thought for sure he would pass out. Blaine licked him through it, groaning against Kurt's dick.
Kurt gulped in heaving breaths, coming back to himself to find he was tugging sharply at Blaine's hair. Blaine was leaning into the pressure of it, gasping, eyes blown, completely wrecked. Kurt relaxed his fingers, and Blaine let out a little moan of protest.
“I will pull your hair all you want later,” Kurt said, “but for now, get up here.”
Blaine grinned wickedly (and Kurt shuddered, because he hadn't known Blaine could do that), and slid up against him. He pulled Kurt into a completely filthy kiss, twisting his tongue in ways that should be illegal, especially when Kurt had just come a minute ago. Kurt returned the kiss as best he could, mouth going slack. When Blaine finally pulled back, Kurt wrinkled his nose and kicked his messy pants and boxers off in one motion. Blaine chuckled and kissed his neck.
“Clothes. Off now,” Kurt said, tugging at Blaine's t-shirt.
“Aren't we doing this a little backwards?” Blaine asked teasingly, but he took his shirt off, so Kurt was happy.
“I refuse to attempt to enjoy the afterglow with all these scratchy layers,” Kurt said, finally getting the last button of his shirt undone and shrugging it off. Blaine finished taking off his pants, and Kurt slid up against him with a contented sigh.
Naked cuddling was awesome.
Kurt hummed and nuzzled against the patch of skin behind Blaine's ear. Blaine shuddered and pulled the blankets up over them. He stroked his fingers up and down the line of Kurt's hip rhythmically and rested his head on Kurt's shoulder, breath puffing out gently against Kurt's chest.
Before he dropped into an exhausted doze, Kurt made a mental note to demand they do it again as soon as they woke up.
“Alright, I will go to one meeting,” Kurt said, later. “But this doesn't mean I'm giving up my life of crime. I'm still an evil genius; always will be.”
Blaine smiled and wrapped his fingers around Kurt's bow-tie, pulling him into a brief, heated kiss.
“Yeah,” he said against Kurt’s lips. “But you're my evil genius.”
Highest rating preffered: NC-17
Prompt(s) used: 1. Supervillains
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