#glees hottest couple award

[jammie3132]

Fandom: Glee Pairing: Blaine Anderson & Sebastian Smythe Summary: Blaine Anderson and his best friends are co-owners of the hottest (literally) new restaurant in NYC…Dueling Dragons. When they discover Sebastian Smythe (city’s toughest food critic and well-known hater of anything spicy) is coming, everyone goes into crisis mode to make sure his review doesn’t bring down what they’ve worked so hard to build.

10 Days of Seblaine 2023 Day 7: Dragons

“Hell no!” Sebastian Smythe, NYC’s most popular (and toughest) food critic, yelled as he plopped down on the couch in his editor’s office. He was too tired (technically hung over) for this.

“Did I give you the impression you had an option?”

“I’ll quit.”

Santana Lopez laughed at her favorite employee (most of the time). “Dueling Dragons is Manhattan’s hottest new restaurant. You’re the website’s critic for new/up and coming restaurants…”

“I can’t do spicy, you know that. When I researched the place, being thorough as usual, I you don't know what you'll get until you arrive that night. And it's a set menu, the only choice you have is Asian or Latin. I wouldn't have the chance to ask for substitutions. On top of that, the five courses get progressively hotter, and I don’t mean temperature. The Scoville scale is involved!”

"Remind me again why you chose to become a Food Critic?"

"You know damn well when spicy isn't involved, my palate is the best in the business." 

“That is true." His palate and award-winning writing was the primary reason Santana had her current job. "I heard alcohol is also part of the experience. Maybe by the third course you won’t care.”

“I heard alcohol is also part of the experience. Maybe by the third course you won’t care.”

“Getting drunk won’t help, especially once they figure out I’m there for a review. It’s not like I’ll fly under the radar.”

“Come on, I’m known as The Spicy Latina. I’ve got to go. I’ll eat whatever half you don’t and give you my two-cents.”

“You know that’s not the way it works. I can’t review anything I didn’t eat. So again, the answer is N…O…NO!”

“Rumor is all of the owners are gorgeous and at least one is gay.” Fuck! Why did she say that?

“Yeah, I’ve seen a couple of Blaine Anderson’s interviews. He’s definitely sex-on-a-stick. But remember, I was told by company lawyers not to sleep with the owners of the restaurants anymore.”

“I meant flirt, you slut! Bat your dreamy eyes and flash your snarky smile. Turn on the charm your followers and fangirls/boys fall for.”

“Hey! The judge believed that the idiot only sued because his husband caught us and threw out the lawsuit! And if I knew the guy was married it never would’ve happened! You, more than anyone know that!”

“Seb…”

“I might be a man whore but I’m not a slut!” Once Sebastian calmed down (slightly), he realized there had to be more going on if they were discussing what was never to be mentioned at work. “What’s this really about, San?”

Was it a smart idea for Sebastian to sleep with the owner of the place he was there to review? Hell no! But none of the shit show that followed was his fault. He was just the one paying for it. “The lawsuit might have been thrown out, but your reputation took a big hit.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Bad enough.”

“Tell them to send Thad. That guy can eat anything.”

“That’s why he covers street food. The big bosses said it has to be you.”

Santana wasn’t just Sebastian’s editor. She’d been his best friend since 3rd grade. He could read her like a book. There was still something she wasn’t telling him…Oh shit! “I know I threatened to quit, but are you saying I could get fired?”

“I’m saying it would be in your best interest to create some positive attention. Just being seen at Dueling Dragons will generate tons of comments on social media with your fans guessing what, if anything, you’ll eat. Your spice aversion isn’t a secret. I think the only reason some people follow you is to see if you’ll vomit. People in this city are gross.”

Sebastian sighed and shook his head. He’d gotten himself into this, only he could get himself out of it. “What night are we going so I can renew my prescriptions? And I’ll probably need a couple days off to give my digestive system time to recover.”

“We have reservations for 7PM tomorrow. Go call your doc and I’ll submit for the time off.” The conversation had actually gone better than Santana expected. “I’ll get you through this.”

“Damn straight you will. I’m going home with you afterwards so you can take care of me while I’m puking my guts out.”

“It’s the least I can do. And Seb, I’m sorry about the slut comment.”

“I love you too Satan.”

Blaine Anderson loved his job. What he didn’t love was how much time he spent doing interviews. He still didn’t understand how these had become his responsibility.

Is it true you and your partners, Sam Evans and Mike Chang, had the idea for Dueling Dragons back in high school?

Not quite. It’s true we’ve been best friends since high school and talked about opening a restaurant someday, but not until Culinary School. Dueling Dragons didn’t come together until after we reunited last year.

Can I ask why the three of you separated for so long?

While we all knew we wanted a career in Culinary, and went to the Institute together, each of us had our own interests. Sam focused on mixology and wine studies. Mike’s love was Hispanic/Latin cuisine. After graduation he spent 2 years traveling Mexico, as well as Central and South America, working for some of the best chefs in the world.

And you?

I left the Institute at the end of my first year when I was accepted to the Cordon Blue in Paris. After 2 years there I spent 3 years in Southeast Asia basically doing the same thing Mike did. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to end this to go prepare for tonight.

No need to apologize. This was the only information that wasn’t clear from our previous interview. The article should be up on our site next Friday. And thank you for the reservation this weekend. The entire office was embarrassed when we couldn’t solve this week’s puzzle and get the code.

We know having a weekly code to make a reservation is a little weird, but it’s working for now. However, with as popular as we’re getting, we’re close to the point where we’ll have to come up with something new.

If at all possible…don’t. Our advertising department thinks it’s brilliant. It drives traffic to your website. Not to mention, the exclusivity of having to have the code to make a reservation works for NYC. Some A-list celebrities I know practically begged me to help them get a code when they found out I’m writing an article on you.

It took another 5 minutes to get the guy off the phone, but Blaine was happy to see the call took less time than he thought it would. He had to get the stock for tomorrow night’s soup course on to simmer. When he walked into the kitchen Sam and Mike were huddled together with their lead hostess, Brittany. These conversations never ended well. “What’s wrong and how much will it cost to fix?” he asked once he got them into the office.

“It’s nothing like that” Mike assured him before moving his focus to Brittany.

They’d hired her away from what was now their biggest rival and worth every penny they overpaid her. “I was going through tomorrow’s reservations and there’s one under the name Grant Dalton.”

“So?”

“Grant Dalton is an alias Sebastian Smythe uses to make reservations. I didn’t think to include Smythe on our list of critic aliases because everyone knows he doesn’t eat spicy food. He has some sort of digestive condition.”

“This is a disaster!” Mike had always been the (overdramatic) worrier of the group, especially with what he considered the sky is falling events. “He’s doing this to give us a negative review. That’s the only reason. He…”

Blaine reached up and clutched tightly to his tall friend’s shoulders (please calm down, please calm down). “Mikey, take a breath. His bosses were here the other night and told each of us how much they enjoyed themselves. Even if Smythe plans to sabotage us, they wouldn’t allow a hit piece on the website.”

“But he does have a massive social media following” Brittany reminded them.

“Although he had that scandal” Sam said much too nonchalantly for anyone’s comfort. He was the one with the big ideas, but also the one with the ridiculous plans to accomplish them.

“He was cleared.” All eyes turned to Blaine. “What? I follow him on Instagram. He’s gorgeous…and gay.”

“Perfect!”

Uh-oh! “Samuel Dwight Evans, whatever plan you’re forming…”

“Blaine Devon Anderson, wouldn’t you do anything within your power to save Dueling Dragons? Our dream…”

“Where all our money is invested! Every…single…dime!” Mike began to hyperventilate but Brittany got him to a chair and helped with his breathing exercises. She’d become their Mike Chang whisperer in the short time she had been with them.

Correction on his previous statement. They weren’t paying their lead hostess nearly enough.

“You both, and Brittany, know I’d do anything for Dueling Dragon, but I’m not going to sleep with Smythe…no matter how gorgeous he is.”

Sam went to Blaine and put his arm around his shoulders. That was never good. “I wasn’t saying sleep with him…woo him. Picture this, we set him and his dinner companion…

“When he uses Grant Dalton he’s usually with his editor, Santana Lopez.”

“Thanks Britt because this wouldn’t work if he was on a date. Where was I…oh, yeah. We set Smythe and Lopez up in a private room, primarily so other customers don’t see him vomit, but also so you can read his mood. We can adjust as needed.”

So far, this wasn’t bad. “Ok, where does the wooing come in?”

“Come on, B. I know your love life if crap…”

“Hey!”

“Your last boyfriend who lasted longer than a week was the guy you ran all the to the Cordon Blue to get away from.”

He wasn’t lying. “Continue.”

“You’re a complete package…good looking, expressive eyes with ridiculous eyelashes, tone body…thanks to me, amazing ass…thanks to me. But your secret weapon? That flirty yet snarky charm of yours. Cast him under your spell. Jedi mind trick him if necessary…”

Blaine freed himself from his partner’s hold and began to pace. The others just watched for a while until Brittany asked “Blaine, are you going to share with the class?”

“What if we did Jedi mind trick him?”

Sam looked to the others and then back to Blaine. “I was kidding, Dude.”

“No, listen. Part of our popularity is we have a different menu every night. Customers have no idea what they’ll get until they get here.”

“Yeah, Blaine” Mike was confused…they were all confused. “We wrote the mission statement with you.”

“I know but while we serve half Asian/half Latin, that’s not what the mission statement says. That’s our choice. The mission statement says quality food. That’s the only requirement we set for ourselves. And the #1 rule for Food Critics is they can’t review anything they didn’t taste themselves.”

“Still don’t get it.”

“We don’t have to serve him spicy.”

“Then what the hell are we serving him?”

“Let me take care of that.”

NEXT DAY 6:45 PM

“Blaine Anderson!” Sam stormed into the kitchen with a receipt in his hand. Blaine hoped that meant what he thought it did. “Why did I just sign for a $1000 bottle of French wine?”

“Yes, it made it! I was beginning to panic.”

Mike hurried over (no running in the kitchen) from his station. “$1000?! On ONE bottle of wine?!”

“Hey Mikey” his head sous chef called from his side of the kitchen. “There’s something wrong with this batch of soup.”

“Oh my God!”

Blaine and Sam weren��t worried about the soup. They’d asked Mike’s staff to invent a potential food disaster whenever situations like this occurred. However, that didn’t mean they weren’t worried. “This has to work, B. We can’t have Smythe trashing us. It’ll kill our momentum.”

“I’m hoping if he does people will take our current reputation and his aversion to spicy food into consideration, but I’m worried too…don’t tell Mikey.”

“Are you kidding? We’re too busy for Brittany to spend the night back here having him breathe into his oxygen tank. Speaking of busy, I’ve got to get out front. Things are so crazy tonight I had to schedule both our new bartenders.” As he walked back to the bar, Sam saw Smythe and who had to be his editor approaching the Hostess Station. "Ok Britt, you're on."

Sebastian was the one dreading the evening but it was Santana who stopped before reaching the Hostess Station. “Did you change your mind? Can we get out of here?”

She tightened her grip on his arm and nodded to the blonde behind the station before. “Where have we seen her before? I remember those boobs from somewhere.”

“Mr. Smythe, Ms. Lopez, you table is ready.”

Sebastian leaned over and quietly asked “Why didn’t you use my alias?”

“She did” the same blonde, who was now right in front of them, answered. “Would you please follow me?”

If that was confusing, they were more confused when they were escorted to a private room set for two. “We thought you’d be more comfortable in here, Mr. Smythe. There’s privacy if something you eat doesn’t agree with you. Hopefully, that won’t be an issue.”

The beautiful blonde excused herself, but Sebastian needed answers.

“How did you know…?”

“That you’re Grant Dalton? What can I say? I’m a genius.”

Once she was gone Santana announced “I’m going to marry that woman.”

“Tone it down, Lopez. My public humiliation doesn’t mean I just can’t sleep with restaurant staff. Everyone was included…” Sebastian was rendered speechless when the most beautiful man he’d ever seen walked in. He’d known Blaine Anderson was attractive from watching his interviews. In person he was stunning.

Blaine was hit with exactly the same thoughts about Sebastian. But he couldn’t be distracted. Everyone was counting on him. He placed a rectangular bucket of ice in front of each of them and stepped back.

“Good evening Ms. Lopez, Mr. Smythe, I’m Blaine Anderson, one of the co-owners, and I’d like to welcome you to Dueling Dragons. Within these buckets are carafes of water and milk, if you should require relief at some point.”

Sebastian looked into his bucket and saw a third carafe. “Why do I have an extra carafe?”

“Pepto Bismal…should you require extra relief.”

Santana sat back and watched the interaction between the two. So, this is what they meant by YOU could cut the (sexual) tension with a knife. Any other time she would’ve helped amp it up, but not now. “Can we have a rundown of tonight’s menus?”

“That’s not how it works. I will not give you a rundown. I will give you the title of each theme and you choose from there. I will say some of our Asian dishes tonight do contain peanuts, but our kitchens are completely separate with no chance of cross contamination.”

“No issues here. I was always choosing Latin. What’s my theme?”

“You’re in luck. Tonight it’s Tour of Mexico. It’s one of the most popular themes my partner prepares.”

“Wait” Sebastian might have been intrigued by the man but he felt like he was being set up. ”If I remember correctly you are the other chef of the trio. Why aren’t you in the kitchen?”

“I assure you, Mr. Smythe, anyone who chooses my cuisine tonight will leave Dueling Dragons completely satisfied.”

“Challenge accepted. And what is my theme for the evening?”

“Surprise me.”

After Blaine left, Sebastian pulled out a notebook and pen. “They’re up to something. Trying to throw me off with their private room and Pepto Bismal. Not to mention, Anderson’s gorgeous eyes and amazing ass. But I’m too smart for that.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Blaine announced triumphantly to Mike and the kitchen staff “He bought it! Now the fun begins.”

Serving a 5-course meal was playing a piece of music. Each part building upon the one before until it reached the crescendo, or in this case, main course. Besides taste, the fastest way to ruin the meal was for the timing to be off. So, after checking how his staff was doing with his scheduled theme, Cambodian Combustion, he made sure everything was in order before he took out the first course. None of his amazing staff was touching anything he served the critic. For better or for worse, this was all on him.

“Mikey! Let’s go!” His partner brought him a small cloche covered plate. “Is the soup good to go? You know there’s no turnaround time between one and two.”

“Now who’s nervous? And the soup is ready to go. You can do this, Blaine. It’s not like our entire future isn’t riding on this.”

Back in the private room, Sebastian noticed something for the first time. “There’s a trash can next to my chair in case their food makes me sick.”

“Can you blame them? Seb, this isn’t just their livelihood, this is their dream. You showing up has to be their worst nightmare. So, what if they figured out you were coming and prepared as much as possible? Have somewhat of an open mind…please?”

“You just want to take the hostess home with you.”

“Yes, but instead I’m taking your sorry ass home. And you can’t tell me you’re not intrigued by Anderson.”

“I definitely am but I’m putting it on the back burner until I figure out what he’s up to…shut up, he’s back. Let’s get this over with.”

With his back turned, Blaine took a deep breath before plastering a smile on his face. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Smythe was as charming as he was gorgeous.

Show time!

“I am proud to present your Amuse Bouche course this evening. If you’ll remove the cloche. Ms. Lopez, you have a handmade corn tortilla chip with jalapeno mouse. Mr. Smythe, tartlet with foie gras and caramelized onion.”

Sebastian looked to Santana who shrugged. It didn't make sense to her either.

“We are pairing the chip tonight with a shot of Patron and Mr. Smythe, you have received a taster’s glass of Chateau Lafite Rothschild 2019 as your pairing. Enjoy and I will return momentarily with the soup course.”

The editor was humming enjoyment for her course, but the critic had all sorts of questions. “Anderson, what the hell is this?”

“Your Amuse Bouche. As I recall, you accepted the challenge to eat what I prepared. Remember we do not allow substitutions. If you’ll excuse me.”

Santana reached toward her partner’s plate. “If you aren’t going to eat it, I will. It looks delicious.”

He slapped her hand away. “Tana, that wine is like $1000 a bottle. And the crust on this tartlet is perfect. Oh, I get it. His theme tonight is Surprise me. There’s probably Thai chilis in this or something. But I don’t smell…”

“Eat the damn thing already!”

Sebastian closed his eyes and popped the tartlet in his mouth, expecting the worse. It was one of the most delicious things he’d ever eaten.

“Is everyone ready for soup?”

This continued through the next 3 courses…a classic French dish with a French alcoholic pairing. He knew Santana’s courses were following the expected process of increasing creasing heat because she’d gone through half her milk and was drinking his water because hers was gone.

But they were surprised when Blaine told her she had a choice for her final dish. They were not as surprised when that meant the habanero version or the ghost pepper version. She wisely chose habanero.

“Mr. Smythe, if you’d remove your cloche.”

Sebastian removed the cover to find his favorite meal…Coq au vin.

“Ok, what the fuck Anderson?”

“Have you not enjoyed what I presented you?”

“It’s the best damn food I’ve ever eaten but…”

“Enjoy your Coq au vin, Mr. Smythe. If you still have questions when you’re finished, I will be happy to answer them.”

Blaine left before he could be asked anything else but ran directly into Sam. “How’s it going?”

“Food wise? Best food he ever ate. Otherwise? I’m probably going to need the rest of that very expensive bottle of wine to calm him down.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea.”

Blaine didn’t serve them the Dragon fruit sorbet that came at the end of the dinner. It wasn’t big enough to be called a dessert, just enough to cool the mouth down after the final (and spiciest) course. 10 minutes later Brittany asked Santana if she’d like to see the kitchen and thank her chef. Sebastian knew there was no way she was declining. They were barely out the door when Blaine appeared with a bottle of cognac and two glasses. “Still have questions?”

“Don’t you have a restaurant to run?”

“That’s why I have partners and pay our staff 25% above going rate. We also tip match nightly with kitchen staff.”

“Most establishment have servers tip share.”

“We don’t.”

“Don’t you think that’s a risky plan for a new restaurant, especially in NYC?”

“Less expensive than constant turnover and retraining. Now that we’ve established I’m not abandoning my responsibilities, do you have anything else to ask or are you writing a hit piece no matter what I say?”

Sebastian sat back and sipped at his cognac. The Blaine Anderson who served them dinner was charming, but it felt a bit…staged. Snarky Blaine Anderson was his fucking wet dream (seriously…fucking wet dream). “Who cooked my meal?”

“I did.”

“Anderson…” Blaine scrolled through his phone. When he found what he was looking for he handed it across the table. “Your bio?”

“Read it.”

It didn’t take long for Sebastian to find…“You graduated top of your class at The Cordon Blue? In Paris? Why the fuck are you cooking that spicy shit?” For some reason, that was exactly the wrong thing to ask.

“Fuck you! Write what you want. We’ll survive whatever bullshit you say about us!”

Blaine started leave as it hit Sebastian how badly he’d screwed up. “Sorry, I’m really sorry, that’s not what I meant…well, it is, but not the…shit! Can I have a do over? Hi, my name is Sebastian Smythe. I’m a food critic and an idiot. I’d like to have an intelligent conversation with you but I don’t know if that’s possible…on my part. I’ve just eaten the best meal of my life cooked by the most attractive chef I’ve ever seen and I’m totally off my game.”

Blaine sat back down but was not fully sold on the apology. Despite that he brought down his defenses to explain. “I was in a relationship when I was at the Institute. The Cordon Blue was his dream, not mine. When he sent in his application, he forged one for me. I got accepted, he didn’t. As you can guess, he didn’t take it well. It got so bad I broke up with him which made it worse. I only went to Paris to get away from him.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“While I was there I learned everything I could. I mean I did finish first in my class. But Paris was always his dream. From Paris I went to the Philippines to visit my mom’s family. I found out Mikey was on his trek through South America and thought What the hell? I’m here. The Philippines turned into 3 years in Southeast Asia. It was the best thing I ever did.”

Sebastian went for the bottle of cognac to discover it was empty. Not good. The booze would have helped quash the feelings that were developing for the man sitting across from him. “Then why cook me the best dinner I ever ate.”

“We assumed you were doing a hit piece as part of your crusade against all things spicy. We invested everything we have in Dueling Dragons…savings, inheritance, trust funds.”

“I wasn’t doing a hit piece. Ever since my life became Page six fodder, my reputation has taken a hit. You’re the most popular new restaurant in NYC. It’s my job to review new restaurants. In the past I would’ve passed this assignment to a different critic. This time I wasn’t given the option. I think my bosses wanted me to bail so they could fire me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

ONE WEEK LATER

Blaine was in his office, going over the books. His idea to trick Sebastian Smythe cost nearly $3000 they didn’t have. He didn’t know how to tell Sam, and no way in hell he was telling Mike. Maybe they could try to fit in a few more tables on weekends?

He was so focused on the numbers he didn’t hear Brittany the first time she called his name. “Blaine!”

“Oh, sorry Britt. What’s up?”

“There’s someone here to interview you.”

"I don't have an interview scheduled."

“I don’t know what to tell you. The guy said he needed to talk to an owner and insisted it was you.”

While he was annoyed at least it gave him a chance to clear his head. That was until he saw Sebastian Smythe was the person waiting to talk to him.

Fucking great

“What can I do for you Mr. Smythe?”

“How about we take a seat and talk? And maybe call me Sebastian?”

“Sure” With the restaurant empty he motioned to a table far enough from the bar Sam couldn’t eavesdrop. “What can I do for you Sebastian?”

“We had such a dramatic end to my last visit…” Sebastian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope “I didn’t pay for my meal.”

“Your editor did.”

“No, she paid for the meal I expected to have.”

“I don’t…” Blaine opened the envelope and found a check for $3048.28. “What is this?”

“I had no idea what to do with my review so I went to my bosses. They laughed so hard that you got one over on me that they insisted paying for everything. That’s an estimate. If it was more…”

“No, it’s down to the penny. Thank you.”

“I swear it wasn’t me, but this is.”

Blaine accepted the gift bag he hadn’t noticed. “Chateau Lafite Rothschild 2019 but that was part of the money…”

“That’s not from my bosses, it’s really from me. I know you don’t have the fondest memories of The Cordon Blue but it’s a travesty you won’t cook French food because of them. I was hoping if I brought the wine you might cook me dinner one night. Not here, but as like a date?”

“YES!!” Evidently their table wasn’t far enough from the bar since Sam, Mike and Brittany answered for him.

“My friends…this is just a date?”

“Yes. After the last few months I learned my lesson about…well, you read the tabloids. I think I’d like to take things slow, if that’s alright.”

“Very alright.”

Sebastian’s smile filled his face until…“Please tell me you’re not married.”

LATER THAT DAY

Dueling Dragons A Sebastian Smythe Review

It is not a secret that I don’t like spicy food. It’s not that I don’t like it, due to a digestive condition, I cannot eat it without becoming violently ill. I’m usually able to avoid these dishes when reviewing a restaurant.

Then I was assigned to review Dueling Dragons.

Dueling Dragons is co-owed by two of NYC’s hottest (pun intended) new chefs, Mike Chang and Blaine Anderson, and a master of mixology, Sam Evans. Their unique vision of a half Latin/half Asian menu is a breath of fresh air.

I am declaring the latest trend of Wall Street burnouts deciding “Hey, I can cook. I’ll open a restaurant” officially over. I refuse to eat tasteless pasta, steaks dripping in a pound of butter or overcook salmon again. NYC is the greatest city in the world. We don’t deserve that crap. We deserve food prepared with thought and a little whimsy. More than that, we deserve food prepared by expert hands. Hands of chefs who give a damn, not only for the meals they prepare but the customers they serve.

What we deserve is Dueling Dragons

Yes, I ate the food. No, I’m not going to describe what I ate. Each night is a new experience, and I don’t want to ruin yours.

I will say it was the best meal I ever ate.

[redheadgleekfic]

these inconvenient fireworks - chapter 1

Title: these inconvenient fireworks Fandom: glee Link: FF.net (T rated version). AO3. Tumblr. Warnings: None apply. Rating: Mature to explicit. Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson, very slight Kurt/Adam at the beginning. Thanks to @snarkyhag, @wowbright, and @slowcookedwriting for their handholding, cheerleading, and betaing of this fic. This fic really did require a village.

Written for the @fandomtrumpshate charity auction for @sunshineoptimismandangels. Completed as part of the @wipbigbang project.

Summary: After an unexpected Tony award, Kurt Hummel is Broadway's hottest up and coming star, which comes with expectations and some admirers that won't take a hint. When his best friend Elliott Gilbert suggests that they pretend to fake-date to get the leeches to back off, Kurt takes him up on the idea. It's all working out great - until Kurt starts to fall hard for dark-haired music director of his latest musical.

Read the first chapter on AO3, the completed (but censored) fic on FF.net, or click below to continue reading on tumblr.

*

Chapter 1

Kurt stalls at the closed door, his hand on the handle, and closes his eyes, listening to the cacophony of the crowd beyond. The cheers had started up in earnest when Harmony had exited just a few minutes before and he basks in the familiar noise, poised to join in.

It’s his last night, the last night that he will get to experience the mixture of lingering adrenaline and utter exhaustion after baring his soul to a rapt audience. He had been a nobody just a couple of years ago — making do as a chorus member and a couple of secondary roles in off-off Broadway shows to pay his rent — when he got his big break in the Broadway revival of The Boy From Oz as Peter Allen. The crowds that lingered at the stage door those early days had been much smaller, but Kurt cherishes the memory of their enthusiasm in his performance and their eagerness in getting his signature on the playbill that displayed his face. He’ll never forget the moment when he stepped out of the subway tunnel in Times Square to be greeted by his laughing face from fifty feet above. More than ten years after escaping Lima and pounding pavement with more rejections than successes, he had made it. Following in the shoes of Hugh Jackman had been intimidating, especially as an unknown actor but, slowly, word about the play trickled out as he channeled Peter’s frustration and growing awareness. The reviews had been glowing, and his surprise win of Leading Actor in a Musical Revival at the Tonys caused a surge in attendance and the number of people lingering at the stage door increased dramatically after that. Kurt now spent nearly an hour each night after the play signing autographs and posing for pictures with fans who clamored for his attention.

Tonight, it comes to an end. The show is closing after an impressive twenty month run and in two weeks time, rehearsals for The Greatest Showman will start: a microcosm of the circle of life as experienced on the Great White Way. Already, the stagehands have started striking the stage, tearing down what has been home for the last two years. Kurt lingered at the end of the stage after the final curtain call, trying to capture all of the senses and memories of this place before it disappeared. He’ll come back tomorrow to clean out his dressing room, but by then, the set will already be gone. Theater doesn’t allow for dithering in one’s nostalgia.

So Kurt centers himself in this moment, breathing in the familiar sights and smells, and then pushes open the door. The cheers and applause are deafening in the warm summer air—loud and overwhelming and just for him. He doesn’t stop the grin that spreads across his face, overwhelmed with emotion, as he holds his hand up for silence. The noise slowly dies down before he projects his voice and addresses the crowd.

“Thanks so much for coming here tonight and supporting my fellow cast and crew who have worked so hard over the last several months bringing this show to life. And thank you, so much, for your support of me. Whether tonight was your first night attending the theater, in which case, I hope I made your first time good—” he winks and swivels his pelvis—a move he has perfected over the last several months of gyrating in tight pants “—or your 100th, in all seriousness and from the bottom of my heart: your love and support has been my motivation. It has meant so much to me to bring Peter alive for you every night. Thank you.”

He presses his hand to his heart, before raising it again. “As you know, it’s our last night. So I hope you ask for a massive sum of money when you put this playbill for sale on eBay.” He winks again and steps forward to those fans straining against the barrier, his bodyguard at his side, a looming shape that quails any threats.

The signing goes quickly—his signature has become a barely decipherable scrawl. He pauses for a few selfies, particularly for the young boys who remind him of himself as a bullied teenager longing for an escape.

“Kurt! Kurt! Over here! Kurt!” He has come to recognize the voices of his more… fervent fans and he suppresses a tiny sigh before grabbing the man’s playbill. Chandler’s been to the play (or at least the stage door line) nearly every night. At first, Kurt had been intensely flattered by the adoration — hearing that he was better than Hugh Jackman never hurts the ego — and he had nearly slipped him his phone number one particularly lonely winter night before his logical brain had wrested back control. The novelty has worn off over the last few months, but he keeps his smile firmly in place. “Hi, hi, thanks for coming.”

“I couldn’t miss your last day!” Chandler chirps. “I brought something for you.” Chandler thrusts him a picture frame containing a photo collage of his playbill photo, surrounded by gold stars and pics of him on stage sliding across the floor in those cursed gold pants, another of him accepting his award on Tonys night and another—Kurt squints.

“Is that me in my cheerleading costume?”

“Yep!” Chandler confirms with a bounce. “YouTube has all of these treasures from your younger years.”

“That’s, uh, great.”

Kurt hands it over to Bruce who examines it grimly, always on the lookout for the bomb threat, Kurt supposes. “Thanks, it’s lovely.” He hands back the signed playbill.

Chandler keeps his arm out. “Will you make it out to me? Just for tonight?”

“Er, sure.”

“It’s C-H-A-N-D-L-E-R.” He spells out his name as he does every night. Kurt suppresses his eye roll. “I’m graduating in a couple of months from NYADA myself and you’ve been such an inspiration, I can’t even tell you. Maybe one day, we’ll be in a musical together. Can you just imagine?” He giggles as he clutches his now signed playbill to him.

“That would be nice,” Kurt replies politely. “Good luck, it’s a tough world out there.”

“I know! But if you made it, there’s hope for us all. Oh, and—” Bruce starts nudging Chandler further back "—look behind the frame. You can call me anytime, really, I—”

Kurt gives a relieved wave and turns back to the thinning group. “Hi! Thanks so much for coming tonight!”

*

“Kurt, might I steal you away from your dashing companion for a moment? There’s someone that I’m dying for you to meet.”

Kurt smiles apologetically at Adam, as June Dolloway tucks her hand under his elbow and drags him away. It’s just as well. Adam Crawford starred as one of the play’s secondary characters and Kurt has had a bit of a crush on his stage romance, as he was a sucker for a British accent. Alas, they shared little in common besides a fondness for British comedies and Adam was unfortunately dull as bricks in a one-on-one conversation. But the wee morning hours and the celebratory champagne freely flowing at the after party has Kurt forgetting why a hookup with a colleague—a gorgeous and interested colleague—would be a bad idea. June’s interruption saves him the awkwardness of morning apologies.

He gives Adam one last glance and turns his attention back to his benefactress. “Whom shall I charm tonight?”

Having June Dolloway, one of New York City theater scene’s most important and visible socialites, as his benefactor has definitely had its perks and challenges. During his sophomore year at NYADA, he had been selected to perform a musical number for her. His chosen song, “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” from Sunset Boulevard highlighted his strength of belting high notes most tenors couldn’t reach. June had been impressed and Kurt had become her pet project. It was through June’s influence that Kurt had gotten his first role on the stage. They had clashed multiple times over the years over differences in opinion. While Kurt was grateful for her support, he refused to be beholden to her. She had faded from his life when he had struggled to get auditions, unhappy that he had not been the success story that she had molded him for, but, since winning the Tony, she had slipped back into his life. He doesn’t blame her for her hot-cold attention—she has made her career investing in young performers who will bring in millions in name recognition and she doesn’t have the patience to devote time to ones who aren’t worth the investment.

Still. It’s his after party and he’s a little muffled at the expectation to shmooze on his night of glory. But one does not easily deny June when she comes calling.

June pats his arm as she guides him through the mingling guests. “Darling, this one is just for you; I had nothing to do with it.”

Kurt comes to an abrupt stop. “That’s Ryan Durphy.” He hisses dumbly as he takes in the appearance of the famous producer and screenwriter, standing off to the side in a beanie and a tinted pair of glasses.

“Yes,” she replies, tugging on his arm again. “He comes to these gatherings every once in a while. Despite being in television,” June sniffs in faint disgust, “he is a big supporter of the arts. And he wants to meet you explicitly.”

“Me?” Kurt stumbles again.

“You’ve made quite the impression on several important people. Come now, don’t be shy. I taught you better than that.” She chastises as she trots him across the room.

“Ryan!” June kisses him lightly on the cheek. “It has been so long, hasn’t it? What does it take to get you young folk to pay attention to an old woman like me?”

“Never old, June, never old. You have truly mastered the secret of eternal youth.” Ryan air kisses in response. Kurt tries not to stare at the producer legend.

“You flatterer!” June simpers. “Have you met my protégée? Kurt Hummel, Ryan Durphy. You caught tonight’s performance, didn’t you? Wasn’t Kurt magnificent? Truly made for the role.”

“Kurt. Pleasure.” Ryan’s handshake is firm and no nonsense.

“Mr. Durphy. I-I-I’m a big fan of your work, sir.” He replies with only a slight stutter revealing his nervousness.

“It’s Ryan, please.” Ryan studies him intently, raising a glass to his mouth. “You were remarkable tonight.”

“I- Thank you.”

“I’ve long been fascinated with Peter’s life. June, did you ever meet him?”

June gies a mournful sigh. “A half dozen times or so. Liza and I were close in our younger years. His death was so tragic. Liza was absolutely heartbroken.”

“Hmm yes. Men closeting themselves, suppressing their deepest desires for love in order to be accepted by society is always tragic.” He pauses, still staring at Kurt deeply. “Are you gay?”

“Y-yes.” Kurt stumbles, a little amazed at the direct question.

“And you’re out?”

“Since I was 16. All of my friends and family know.”

“In Peter’s day, that would have been impossible. Even in my day… when I was first starting out, I was told that I should never let anybody know about being gay. It was fine, they said, they accepted me, but others might not. I refused to let others’ archaic beliefs define who I was.”

“As did I.” Kurt agrees. Beside him, June squirms a little. She had not been happy when Kurt had bluntly informed her that he was not going to hide who he was, even if it might affect his prospects. They had argued, extensively, before she had relented.

“Good. This younger generation inspires me.” He finishes his drink and plays with the glass stem in his hand. “Kurt, I’m writing a musical.”

“Really?”

“There aren’t enough musicals or plays about gay people that don’t end in suicide or tragedy. There needs to be more and I’m determined to make it happen. It’s a complete vanity project, as in I’m vain enough to think that I have the talent to pull it off. I have the financial backers, a duo of eager songwriters, and will likely have a theater at the end of the year. I want you for the lead.”

Kurt stares, stunned to his core, certain that he had misheard. “You want me?”

“You remind me of myself when I was younger and you certainly have the aptitude.” Ryan hands him a business card. “My cell’s on the back. Text me or have your agent do so if you prefer to go through official means and when the play is ready to go, I’ll set you up with the casting director. I anticipate we’ll be casting within the next six months, so don’t be hasty in accepting your next project.”

“Thank you!” Kurt enthuses giddily. “I’ll be in touch!”

Ryan touches his beanie. “Do. Now if you’ll excuse me, these late nights are getting too much for me.”

Kurt barely hears June’s excited chirping beside him. He, Kurt Hummel, has just been recommended for the role of a lifetime by the king of Hollywood. Kurt digs his fingernails into his palm, the pain steadying him. Not a dream then. He grabs a glass of champagne and drinks it down, as giddy as the bubbles sliding down his throat.

June kisses his cheeks in congratulations and glides away, her work done for the evening, as pleased as Kurt has ever seen her.

Across the room, he catches Adam’s eye who raises his glass in response. Kurt sips demurely and winks, never looking away from Adam. It’s his night and he’s going to celebrate.

Next chapter

[redheadgleek]

WIP Big Bang - complete!

Story Title: these inconvenient fireworks Fandom: glee Link: FF.net (T rated version). AO3. Tumblr. Summary: After an unexpected Tony award, Kurt Hummel is Broadway's hottest up and coming star, which comes with expectations and some admirers that won't take a hint. When his best friend Elliott Gilbert suggests that they pretend to date to get the leeches to back off, Kurt takes him up on the idea. It's all working out great - until Kurt starts to fall hard for the dark-haired music director of his latest musical. Warnings: None apply. Characters: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Elliott Gilbert, Tina Cohen-Chang, Adam Crawford, Chandler, Kitty Wilde, Unique Adams, some fourth-wall breaking characters Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson, very slight Kurt/Adam at the beginning

When I Started: This was a fic that I signed up to write for the @fandomtrumpshate 2020 charity auction for @sunshineoptimismandangels. She provided me with some really excellent prompts and I was really excited to write this story. I started to write it in the spring of 2020. And then the pandemic happened.

How I Lost My Shit: I lost all of my writing mojo with the stress from work. I realized pretty early on that my initial ideas would work best in a longer chaptered story. I couldn't come up with words to connect the vague ideas in my head. Every word was painful and I hated that, because I really loved the story idea. I had spurts of creativity, followed by nothing. I tried writing every day for a month in November. I created a "Write a Little Every Day Project" challenge in January and it still wasn't enough.

How I Finished My Shit: WIP BB was just the kick in the butt that I needed with a deadline to meet (even though I ended up asking for an extension) where I wrote every chance I could for months. For the last couple of chapters, I went to the beach and just wrote for an afternoon and that seemed to be the last trigger that I needed to get it done. I still ended up writing until nearly the due date.

For all of my grumblings for how long it took me to finish it, I really love this story and how it turned out.

[bxllafanficc]

¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part seven)

Part one. Masterlist!

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Yuri's POV*

(Next week)

A week had passed by in a rather slow pace. Yuri's recovery seemed to never end when it had just been a few days. But those days were spent sleeping and eating, using his phone and sleeping some more. Mostly he had no one to talk to since everyone were busy with their own lives. Especially (Y/n) who had to keep her inner performer alive at all times. Her coach came with the idea of hosting a smaller gig where (Y/n) would perform about two or three numbers for the people of Japan. It was planned out as a small nightclub gig at first but the numbers of interested in Japan rose over the charts and well... (Y/n) said that she didn't want to let anyone down. Though her coach was apparently hesitant into taking more than a hundred people. 'Three numbers are too little for a concert.' They said but the people of Japan insisted on paying for the price a concert ticket anyway.

(Y/n) had told him this two days after his fever started. He remembered it made him scoff at how she decided the ticket would only cost a quarter of what a normal concert ticket would then. He had told her it was a ridiculous way of thinking.

He barely saw her after the first day of his fever. The way Yuri had taken a hold of her hand and fallen asleep... She waited until he woke up. Well, not exactly waited. She fell asleep at the edge of his bed.

And since that, the two of you barely talked during the days. They barely even met before she went to bed because she spent every waking hour to practice her numbers with her backup dancers. She still made you breakfast when she head the time though.

Yuri's glad it would soon be over and he could go back to normal. Everyone had been attending to him like he was some child and he felt like a huge burden. He had told Victor that he wished (Y/n) especially wouldn't just dismiss his attempts at doing things on his own just because he couldn't get out of bed with single effort. 'Right, she told me about that! You fell on your face right after while trying, didn't you?' He had replied.

So... yeah... Yuri wanted things to return to normal real fast. Yakov had promised him that he would get to start his session with (Y/n) as soon as the music for the program was set. And that was what Victor had been helping him with a couple times. It was hard to find something he wanted to use. Everything felt overused and boring. Just another performance. Yuri didn't want it to pass as that. He wanted to stand out and earn his gold medal for real just as last year. Now was also really the year of improvement so the music had to be well thought through. He was certainly going to take advantage of having a coach for emotional performances with him this season as well. Meaning, his free skate program was already set to be something hurtful and strong. Not love, he already did that. Something far more serious. He wanted the audience to cry after his performance. Everyone should be bawling. Yakov, piglet, Victor and even (Y/n).

Most important of all, no one would be expecting him to do a program with such deep meaning. Because he was one to avoid it in the past.

His short program should be something upbeat and flashy. He wanted the choreography so intense that he'd be coughing up blood at the end of the performance, if that was possible. So the music had to make the pulse of the audience rise when hearing it. Meaning, the music would be in the rock genre. And he already had just the song for it.

This performance would show off his skills and flexibility as well as the importance of his stamina since the entire program would be non-stop step sequences and jumps throughout almost the entire music. Since he intended to be in better shape than ever before before the competition started, he felt no point in holding back on anything. If he played it safe, then what was the point?

"Ah! Good morning Yuri! I come bearing gifts!" Victor busted the door open with his foot and stumbled inside the room, balancing a tray in his hand. The tray was set down in front of him and Victor sat down at the end of Yuri's bed.

"Where's (Y/n)?" Yuri was truly surprised to see Victor being the one to bring you the breakfast today. It had been her until now. And he hadn't even seen as much as her face today since she left so early.

"Ouch. I'm replaced already? I can't go on knowing I'm not your favorite anymore, you know." Victor put a dramatic hand to his forehead and fell backwards onto Yuri's legs. The tray with the breakfast threatened to tumble and Yuri made an effort to stabilize it. It was bacon and eggs with apple slices. A part of him felt a little sad that the slices weren't in the shape of stars...

"You were never my favorite, old man. And you didn't answer my question." Yuri picked up the fork and pointed it towards the man slopped unto the bed end. He ignored the sad pout he received and took a bite of the apple cut into pieces. Each slice were to large and it didn't even taste the same even though they were of the same apples like yesterday. The eggs were decent and the bacon slightly undercooked. Victor's efforts to cook for the household during the day were appreciated of course. But there was no wonder why (Y/n) stood for the head of the dinner at days when her schedule wasn't as crazy.

"She's practicing like mad. Called her dancers to say that she would be starting a few hours ahead of time because she got an energy boost. She wants the show to be at her best efforts possible."

"I haven't even seen her today. How can she practice like a maniac when she's probably already learned her numbers flawlessly?"

Victor was watching Yuri with a funny look. Probably wondering where all those questions came from.

"I think the show is a way for her to relax."

Say what? Going out of bed before sunrise and coming back from practice just mere hours before midnight could never be considered relaxation. Yuri would never be able to pull that off. That was an insane view of the word relaxing, definitely.

"The steam and demands from her competition in We are voice are currently lifted off her shoulders like heavy weights, you know. This is probably just fun to her. She doesn't have to compete with anyone. I think it gives her a sense of relief."

Yuri stopped eating and thought a little extra on what Victor said.

Yes. She was always stressed in every video where a fan or a nosy reporter came out of nowhere and started recording. Yuri had seen those videos. Especially the one where the random person happened to record the exact moment her mind broke down and she had a breakdown in front of a large crowd. Now there was no denying that Yuri sees (Y/n) as the most weirdest and ridiculous being alive. The way she is so determined to get her way and how much she cares for strangers she's never met. Yuri kind of still consider the two of them to be strangers, even after two weeks being with each other on a daily basis. Her eyes are also too intense for anyone to be up close with to her face and as if that wasn't enough, she's also a morning person and that's already a big warning sign to stay away from a person.

But even though he had had this mental conversation with him many times. Even though he agreed that he disliked her; he couldn't help but being captivated by her performances.

It felt so weird seeing her cry like that just minutes before her performance and then watching her going on stage having the time of her life. There was no doubt she loved her fans and performing on stage but that was one of those moments where Yuri really got to see the mind behind the happy smile. It was the first time he had seen her crying or feeling a negative emotion. It's still the first but he got a taste of her irritated self not so long ago.

It made Yuri think about her performance that day. It was a remarkable song filled with sheerness and excitement and her eyes were still wet with tears as she got up on stage.

"Remember (Y/n) performing 'Animal' during the acappella collaboration sequence?"

"Yes! One of my favorites. She was so happy on stage that day." While it had been true that she found happiness, it's not to ignore how broken she felt right before. 'Animal' by Neon Trees (A/N: listen to the Glee version of the song for the best acapella dynamic!) Was one of (Y/n)'s best performances, according to Yuri. He had watched it on repeat just this morning. There's really nothing special to the song in itself. It was the way she delivered every word and tune with such bravery after her internal battle like that. Her emotional response has always been on point but this particular song was something completely real and touching with her tears glistening in the corner of her eyes the entire performance. The tears of sadness had been replaced with joy and she had genuinely just been having a great time with the acapella group at her side, cheering and jumping around on stage with stars in her eyes.

'Oh, oh

I want some more

Oh, oh

What are you waiting for?

Say goodbye to my heart tonight'

The chorus were always his favorite part. Maybe it was the interpretation of the love-hate relationship the words of the lyrics intended. (Y/n) was belting out 'what are you waiting for' with such passion even though it was hardly a difficult song to perform.

'Here we are again

I feel the chemicals kickin' in

It's gettin' heavier and

I wanna run and hide

I wanna run and hide'

The short verse got him every time. The way her eyes watered at the end and then were immediately blown away by the chorus once again. The way she let go of her sadness and let her happy thoughts consume her. No, she let the song consume her and gave the song a completely different touch never done before.

Yuri had lost count of the time he'd watched it and he knew the choreography and song in and out by now. It was mainly intended for the purpose of studying her expression and getting some kind of inspiration for his music choice. He wanted his theme of his music choice for the free skate program to be 'to let go'. If there's any theme harder than love, then it's letting go of the thing you love. And not just what you love. Letting go to be able to love as well. Whether it's love for yourself or another person. There are countless interpretations and that's what (Y/n) had performed that day, with no intention whatever of doing it in such a way.

"I have... I have chosen the music for my program. At the inspiration of t-that performance."

Now don't get Yuri wrong. He'd never admit it to anyone that (Y/n) had been an inspiration to his free skate. He would probably had figured out the idea anyway, it would just had taken a little longer. And her performance was his own way to interpret it so he'd been the one to come up with the decision anyway. So in a way, she didn't have anything to do with it. And his choice of song would be far more intense and heartbreaking than anything Neon Trees could produce. And so Yuri told Victor about his music choices even though he had no clue why he put that kind of trust into the man.

"Those are some really clever choices when combined with your own vision. I'm almost a little jealous. Maybe I should just hire (Y/n) as my coach myself. It seems like it did wonders for you already!" The man laughed and patted Yuri on the shoulder.

"Nonsense. She hasn't began coaching me yet. She had no part in this." Yuri pushed away the empty tray to make room for sitting up and crossing his legs.

"Oh, but it seems like you learned a lot by ogling her all day long though." The smirk Yuri received made his teeth grit and his ears flush.

"I-i wasn't ogling her!"

"Then what were you doing exactly? I heard 'Animal' playing for a good 30 minutes from the wall connected to the room beside yours." Victor laughed at the startled freeze of The Russian Punk.

Okay fine. Maybe he went overboard with the video. But a new problem had seemed to appear now as he admitted defeat.

Yuri now had a witness that would have to be taken care of somehow. He leaned forwards and gripped the collar of Victor's shirt in a tight fist. The glare of daggers shot forwards onto the smiling man.

"Tell anyone about it and you're gonna have to reconstruct that pretty nose of yours. That's a promise,not a threat."

"Trust me! You won't hear a peep!"

[wipbigbang]

WIP BB Bragging Rights

Story Title: these inconvenient fireworks

Fandom: glee

Link: FF.net

Summary: After an unexpected Tony award, Kurt Hummel is Broadway's hottest up and coming star, which comes with expectations and some admirers that won't take a hint. When his best friend Elliott Gilbert suggests that they pretend to fake-date to get the leeches to back off, Kurt takes him up on the idea. It's all working out great - until Kurt starts to fall hard for dark-haired music director of his latest musical.

Warnings: None apply.

Characters: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Elliott Gilbert, Tina Cohen-Chang, Adam Crawford, Chandler, Kitty Wilde, Unique Adams, some fourth-wall breaking characters

Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson, very slight Kurt/Adam at the beginning

Date completed: September 29, 2021.

When I Started: This was a fic that I signed up to write for the Fandom Trumps Hate 2020 charity auction for sunshineoptimismandangels. She provided me with some really excellent prompts and I was really excited to write this story. I started to write it in the spring of 2020. And then the pandemic happened.

How I Lost My Shit: I lost all of my writing mojo with the stress from work. I realized pretty early on that my initial ideas would work best in a longer chaptered story. I couldn't come up with words to connect the vague ideas in my head. Every word was painful and I hated that, because I really loved the story idea. I had spurts of creativity, followed by nothing. I tried writing every day for a month in November. I created a "Write a Little Every Day Project" challenge in January and it still wasn't enough.

How I Finished My Shit: WIP BB was just the kick in the butt that I needed with a deadline to meet (even though I ended up asking for an extension) where I wrote every chance I could for months. For the last couple of chapters, I went to the beach and just wrote for an afternoon and that seemed to be the last trigger that I needed to get it done. I still ended up writing until nearly the due date.

For all of my grumblings for how long it took me to finish it, I really love this story and how it turned out.

[gayassmattdamon]

Ship awards🏆🏆

Ships to be voted for: Samcedes, Klaine, Brittana, Tike and Finchel.

Just vote for which couple has the best/is the:

Best kisses:

Best hugs:

Hottest couple:

Couple that seemed the most like soulmates:

Cutest scenes:

Couple with the best style:

Cutest background moments:

Funniest couple:

Couple with the best development (in the relationship):

Couple you’d like to see a spin off show centered on:

Couple with the best pre-relationship friendship:

Couple with the best storylines:

Couple that understood each other the best:

And of the given, which is your favorite couple?

wahoo

Best kisses:

hmmm i'm gonna say brittana, they didn't have a lot but most of them were cute :]

Best hugs:

brittana!! love when santana tucks here head into brittany's shoulder :')

Hottest couple:

WHEWW samcedes and tike are tied they said bisexual rights specifically for me 😌

Couple that seemed the most like soulmates:

brittana, they genuinely seem like the type of couple that'd get together at any point of their lives if that makes sense

Cutest scenes:

hmmm idk i think it's gonna be samcedes

Couple with the best style:

klaine but i like kurt's style more and tike but i like tina's style more

Cutest background moments:

oouuhh brittana for sure

Funniest couple:

finchel when they're allowed to be

Couple with the best development (in the relationship):

hmmmmmmm idk.... samcedes i suppose? i like their "will they won't they" relationship

Couple you’d like to see a spin off show centered on:

i'm gonna go with klaine and brittana together being the wlw/mlm solidarity we need 😌😌

Couple with the best pre-relationship friendship:

klaine were pretty cute! and brittana ofc

Couple with the best storylines:

that's hilarious i mean this is glee we're talkin about. i'm gonna say samcedes bc i didn't hate much of it

Couple that understood each other the best:

OOF HMM samcedes! they had the best communication FROM MY MEMORY

And of the given, which is your favorite couple?

oouuhhhhh samcedes :]

[blankdblank]

Anaticula Pt 42

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 21b - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 -  Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 33 - Pt 34 - Pt 35 - Pt 36 - Pt 37 - Pt 38 - Pt 39 - Pt 40 - Pt 41 -

“Hey Bernadette!”

Not two hours after your return home you sat on your bed cradling your seeing stone in your palms, through which you saw the elated red headed friend of your mother’s give a quick squeal, “Jaqi!”

“It’s not too late is it?”

She shook her head, “No, of course not, it’s noon here. What’s going on? I heard all bout your big win! Congratulations!”

With a weak chuckle you flashed her a grin then wet your lips to ask, “I was wondering about that offer of yours. For acting lessons.”

With a gasping squeal she asked, “You’re certain?!”

You nodded and grinned, “I think it’s about time I try to get over my audience problems. Performing for a camera might be easier than a crowd at first perhaps?”

She giggled and wiggled in her seat, “Oh this is such great timing! Oh I haven’t been able to write to you yet, though I am on my way tonight to England for a role.” She rolled her eyes, “Some pompous bitch of a boss, with,” she paused with a grin supposedly to amp you up, “An amazing assistant,” after another giggle she added, “It’s mainly silent but I am certain they would be tickled to give you the part.”

“You’re filming soon? They won’t mind?”

She shook her head, “No, in fact knowing I worked with Jewels they asked if I knew you, and I told them you were on the fence about performing. They usually leave the silent roles to last so with your name and clear natural talents they would be wasting their time choosing anyone but you. Besides, it is a perfect first role for you, to get your feet wet.”

“Ok, I um, I did write out a resume,” her brows inched up, “Well, I wrote down a whole bunch of skills that might possibly be useful for roles. Reads more like a lifetime achievement award, even put my grades on it, not sure why-,”

She giggled again, “Oh I am certain it is wonderful. When I get there I’ll come over and I can give it a once over. The film is in Wales though, so you might want to tell your Dad. It’s just for a couple weeks, at least for your part, the rest is mostly about some solitary painting scenes for my character for depth or something. It’ll all make sense later when it’s all pieced together.”

With a nod your plans were sealed, she came out and as your father had already agreed you were off to Wales. A hope that some acting lessons could help you in this was met approvingly by your relatives, Snape and Minerva. News that after the ordeal in the Tournament had an explosion of glee run rampant through the Pears back in France reading that you were dabbling into acting in a Wizarding film alongside a former co-star of your mother’s.  The family legacy was continuing and after hopefully a short production period they could add your first film to the family vault of projects they had accumulated over the years.

Truly you hadn’t missed much as Neville spent the weeks with his parents on their first vacation they took Nellie to Bath as they had been delving into their old favorite novels and hadn’t been since their honeymoon and wished to share their memories with their children.

Hermione was off with her parents to a convention and concert in Australia for a few weeks until she would return to stay with you for the rest of the summer to keep her busy and up on her reading while they worked.

Fred and George joined Ginny and Ron off with Molly on a mini family reunion to help their sick Great Aunt Tessie to get on her feet after hurting her foot in a fall in a gnome hole.

Leaving just Draco, who gladly kept up with writing to Astoria between days of alternated watches by Remus, Regulus and Sirius, who all caught glimpses of his models and novels he poured through between lessons with the violin and piano tutor Narcissa had employed again for him in the summer in his studio not far from your home.

Harry however was an entirely different dilemma. On the heels of the news that Percy had been promoted as Junior Assistant to Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore was asked to step down from the Wizengamot the air seemed to chill and the moonlit sky darkened.

…

I don't know about you, it's just too hot today, isn't it? And it's going to get even worse. Temperatures in the mid-30s Celsius...that's the mid-90s Fahrenheit, tomorrow, maybe even hitting 100. So, please, remember to cover up and stay cool... with the hottest hits on your FM dial.

“Come on, guys, time to go home.” A mother was helping her son of the swing set opposite Harry, “Come on, love, off you get.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we do. I'll make you your favorite dinner to compensate.”

Dudley and his gang entered the park, “He squealed like a pig, didn't he?”

“Yeah, brilliant punch, Big D.”

“Did you see his face?”

Harry forced a smile onto his face, “Hey, Big D. Beat up another 10-year-old?”

Dudley, “This one deserved it.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Five against one, very brave.”

Dudley fired back, “Well you’re one to talk. Moaning in your sleep every night? At least I’m not afraid of my pillow.”

“Don’t kill Jaqi!” One of the guy’s mocked out making even Dudley dry swallow remembering Petunia’s reaction when he had first had a nightmare about your being attacked.

The other asked “Who’s Jaqi? Your girlfriend?”

Harry, “Shut up.”

The second guy mocked, “He’s going to kill us, Mum.”

The first taunted, “Were is your Mum Potter?”

“She dead?” Dudley’s eyes dropped to the ground unwilling to stop the guys around him. The wind picking up and burst of cold air circling them snapped his eyes up again.

“What’s going on?”

Dudley, “What are you doing?”

Harry shook his head, “I’m not doing anything.”

The guys turned to flee, “We’re getting out of here Dudley.”

Fleeing from what they took as a storm Dudley’s gang took off leaving their leader, who raced the other way, wheezing in the corner of a tunnel on the edge of the park Harry had been sitting alone in on the swings lost in thought about that graveyard.

.

Guiding Dudley back again after using his Patronus to fend off the Dementors Harry paused in the street at the familiar small woman formerly used as his sitter in his time with the Dursleys when work called. “Mrs. Figg.”

“Don't put away your wand, Harry. They might come back. Dementors in Little Whinging, whatever next? Whole world's gone topsy-turvy.” She turned to escort Harry.

“I don't understand. How do you know...?”

“Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Dumbledore asked you? You know Dumbledore?”

“After You-Know-Who returned and Jaqi Black was attacked last year...did you expect him to let you go wandering on your own? Good Lord, boy. They told me you were intelligent. Now, get inside and stay there. Expect someone will be in touch soon. Whatever happens, don't leave the house.”

Harry nodded and led him up the walk and into the house where Petunia asked, “Diddykins? Is that you?” Standing up she moved from the dining room into a clear view of the pair making her mouth drop open at Dudley in his clammy appearance, “Duddy. Vernon, come quick.”

Vernon came around the corner open mouthed saying, “We’re going to have to take him to a Hospital. Who did this to you boy?”

Harry answered, “It was a Dementor.”

Petunia looked him over, “A what?”

Harry wet his lips as Dudley was moved into the dining room table, “A Dementor, it’s um, he’ll be fine, just needs something to pep him up a bit. The effects will wear off.”

Vernon, “And what in the meantime? Just leave him like this?!”

Harry wet his lips and fumbled his hands in his pockets until he found a duck keychain you had given him, “I’ll call Jaqi, she’ll know what they gave us at school.”

Vernon, “What does your school have to do with this?!”

Petunia watched him squeeze the charm you had given him to call you, “Is that a curse? A Dementor?”

Harry shook his head only to watch an owl fly in through the window with a Howler in his beak he let loose that stated without being opened, “Dear Mr. Potter.” The door under the stairs opened itself dropping Petunia’s mouth only to see you climb out of it through a charm you had left there in one of your earlier trips.

“The Ministry has received intelligence that at 6:23 this evening you performed the Patronus Charm in the presence of a Muggle. As a clear violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery...you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hoping you are well, Mafalda Hopkirk.”

The letter tore itself up and you asked making Vernon jump not realizing you were there, “Patronus?” You looked at Harry, who was choosing to not ask why you were in thick makeup, tall heels and a long sleeved and pocketed green dress over thick tights with your hair set in elegant waves tucked back revealing your scar was being hidden. “What happened?”

“There were two Dementors, out near the park.”

You nodded and looked to Dudley waving your hand to summon a bar of chocolate you carried over to him. Gently you helped him up, “Come on Dudley.” On his feet he whimpered and you led him to the couch then turned to charm the channel to one of his favorite shows stirring a hint of a grin onto his face as you crouched in front of him unwrapping part of the chocolate bar, “Now, you just snack on this and enjoy your show. Much better soon enough.”

He nodded and accepted the chocolate as you stood and moved to Petunia and Vernon in the dining room still wide eyed, Vernon, “Chocolate? That’s all?”

“A Dementor is a creature that feeds on your happy thoughts leaving you with your most frightening and dreaded moments of your life. They’re under the control of the Ministry, how one let alone two got here is puzzling, though I promise you the effects are temporary and should wear off in a half hour or so after the attack. He seems better already. Don’t panic, all they’ll say is he had a panic attack or something when he bounced back in the Hospital.”

Harry looked you over as Petunia asked, “Were, you at a party?”

You shook your head, “No, one of Mum’s friends got me a bit in her film, which, I should get back, they think I’m getting some air.” Looking to Harry you said, “Wait here, just another hour or so on set and I’ll be back we can talk it all out.”

He nodded then you paused at his body shifting at your step back to the door, “A film? I thought you hated performing.”

You rolled your eyes, “Give me an hour, I’ll explain.” Looking to Petunia you said, “Just let him relax. Back in a bit.”

.

You did come back, and in the weeks of silence from Ron and Hermione along with everyone else Harry sat up in his room waiting out until he would be taken back to the Grimmauld  Place entrance. His hope being that it was true when you had said he couldn’t be expelled without a hearing first and that Dumbledore would handle that.

Freshly scrubbed without a trace of makeup and scars fully visible in boots, jeans and a sweater you sat with the family calming them all down until you said you had to go. No explanation as to where or why he couldn’t go off to your home right then, just stating you had somewhere you needed to be, leaving him in some odd silent limbo with Hedwig nowhere in sight.

***

Shakily you inhaled and outside a dilapidated manor you approached the gate alongside Lucius and Regulus. Your film role having ended the day prior, a last minute flight had brought you here. Mustering up your courage you eyed the familiar Death Eaters along the way, Igor, Barty, Snape included.

Straight through the halls with their dilapidated illusion dropping into pristine condition until a wing backed chair in front of a fireplace was in front of you. A crossed leg with a raised bare foot left your view and Riddle was standing in front of you with hand extended welcoming you into the chair across from him. All about the Tournament was shared and intently he stared at you until you got up to the graveyard again.

“I am curious, why join me? With all you have achieved in facing off against Fudge? Proving yourself to be of such impeccable moral fiber.”

A smirk eased onto your lips and you said, “Fudge has it coming, the coward, besides, what better cover than the hardworking youngest member of the prestigious Black family. Think of how useful that cover could be.”

“I have.” Looking over your shoulder he locked eyes with Barty, “It appears you were right Barty.” With a sigh he rose and motioned for you to do the same guiding you through the halls, in which you caught sight of a familiar long pursued criminal, Fenrir Greyback, the man himself who had first infected Remus. Now watching your every move intently with his group of werewolves behind him, “Every one of my followers must be put to the test, no matter their, relation, to me.” Emphasizing the word relation with a glance your way to see your reaction at his using it again.

At the end of the hall you eyed the dining hall with a restraint table in the center with split off sections for your arms coated with bindings of thick enchanted leather straps and uncharmable metal buckles. The very look of the hall making your stomach clench. Leaning in until he felt his lips starting to heat up barely inches from your ear he whispered in Parseltongue, “Let us see if your loyalty to kin is greater than that blood traitorous mother of yours.” Stepping into the room you eyed the table as he said, “Narcissa, prepare her.”

Heels clicked behind you with the door sealing after, hurrying to your side she raised a backless shirt from her bag she helped you into once you removed your sweater and bra. Softly in raising a ice scented leaf to your lips saying, “Chew and swallow this.” In your eyes looking over hers she said, “It severs emotions temporarily and dries out your tear ducts. You’ll need it. Deep breath and climb up.”

With a nod you followed the instructions and laid out on your stomach while she strapped your arms out at your side, your legs together were strapped down as you felt the clear sever of your emotions ceasing your looming panic attack at the filling of the room. No emotions, no tears. A sharp burn landed on your left forearm and the rule was named for you, ‘you cry you die’.

Upon placing the mark on your skin it would bleed and burn for two straight weeks and if a single tear was shed the mark would start to gush blood until you bled out. In failed tries not to scream out the pain was too much to hold off in the first few days. Though each time seemed more and more agitating for Riddle to bear often having him lapping the room to avoid watching it all. 

In and out of consciousness your back was at their mercy with your relatives giving the most convincing attacks on you to ward any others off trying to top them. Every marked Death Eater was welcome to a turn, though a small group only chose to do so under Riddle’s watch. Hours he would monologue missing the leaves your relatives would slip you before you would be left alone in the silent empty room.

***

A week came and went and a knock sounded on the front door on Privet Drive that pulled Harry from helping Petunia with folding the laundry to answer. Opening the door he saw the front entrance to the Black Family Home parting his lips with Remus there, “Hello Harry.”

“Hi. Um, Why didn’t Jaqi come?”

Remus grinned, “She’s not back yet.”

Harry nodded in his confusion, then turned to hurry upstairs, “I’ll get my trunk.”

In his absence Remus introduced himself to Petunia and chatted with her until Harry came back joining him through the door that closed and broke its link with the home Petunia checked by glancing through the mail slot. Inside the main hall Harry asked, “Where is everyone?”

Remus, “Oh, little bit of everywhere. You’ve missed a great deal Harry.”

Harry, “Like what?”

Remus, “Well, we’ve had a great deal of Aurors visiting lately.”

Harry, “Aurors?”

Remus, “From the old order.” Guiding him into the sitting room his bags were floated up to his room while Remus spread out the papers with headlines slandering a great deal of people, Harry, you and Dumbledore included. “Fudge has been busy trying to discredit all he can.”

Harry, “Why is he doing this?”

Remus, “He’s afraid Dumbledore is after his job.”

Harry, “No one in their right mind would believe that.”

Remus, “Fudge isn’t in his right mind. It’s been twisted and warped by fear. Now, fear makes people do terrible things, Harry. The last time Riddle was in power he nearly destroyed all we held dear. And the Ministry will do all in their power to hide from that terrifying truth. Riddle is back and no doubt amassing followers again, meaning we need to recruit as well.”

Harry, “Well if you’re building an army I want to fight!”

Remus sighed, “Let us hope we can avoid your taking part at all. First things first, Dumbledore has been reinstating the old Order.”

Harry, “Order of the Phoenix? That my parents were in?”

Remus chuckled, “We were all in it, but yes. See, Harry, there’s something, we believe, before he would try to come after you, that he would be searching for.”

Harry, “Like a weapon?”

Remus’ head tilted sideways, “In a way. Over all it’s useless, but Riddle put weight in it, so we will have to continue protecting it.”

Harry, “What is it?”

Remus, “A prophecy.”

Harry’s lips parted, “You mean like the one he heard to make him come after my parents?”

Remus, “The very same. He may believe he missed something in it, a way to protect himself again. But, prophecies are tedious and often grey matter. For now, you just relax, Draco should be home soon from the piano to keep you company and the others along in a day or two.”

Harry, “What about my expulsion?”

Remus chuckled, “Your trial will be in front of the entire Wizengamot in a few days. Arthur is going to take you most likely.”

A familiar picture on the table lured Harry to reach out for it, all the Marauders, Lily, Jewels and even you on Sirius’ chest asleep and even Alastor and Snape as well near Remus, “Original Order of the Phoenix. Marlene McKinnon. She was killed two weeks after this was taken. Voldemort wiped out her entire family. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Neville's parents. They suffered a fate worse than death, you ask me. It's been 14 years. And still a day doesn't go by I don't miss your parents. Then Jewels…”

Harry, “Do you really think there's going to be a war?”

Remus, “It feels like it did before. You keep it. Anyway, I suppose you're the young ones now.”

..

Arthur, “Trains. Underground. Ingenious, these Muggles.” Past the gates he got held up in for a moment due to uncertainty on how to pay the fare Arthur led the way through the tunnels and then out to the streets again for a winding path straight to a phone booth he stepped up to. “Here we are.” Harry glanced around then squeezed in with him, “I've never used the visitors' entrance before. Should be fun.”

Through the bustling crowds Harry caught on to a jumble of conversations, “Terrible. Lost a lot of Galleons trading on the potions market.”

“Daily Prophet, ladies and gentlemen. Anybody for Daily Prophet?” A teen selling papers cried out.

Instantly Harry’s eyes dropped to the title reading ‘Dumbledore: Is he daft, or is he dangerous?’

Through a black shining tile lined hallway full of green flashing floo entrances Harry held his pace at Arthur’s side only to peer up at the towers of glass wrapped offices looking over the indoor fountains with golden statues inside under a tall clock. Straight for a lift they walked and Harry raised his eyes to the floating paper airplane memos floating above their heads. Arthur eyed the man entering beside them, “Morning, Arthur.”

Nodding his head he replied, “Morning, Bob.” In a sideways lurch followed by a shot up Arthur caught Harry’s glance at the memos, “Interdepartmental memos. We used to use owls. Mess was unbelievable.” At the next stop of the lift Kingsley entered and passed Arthur a note, “Merlin's beard. Thank you, Kingsley. They've changed the time of your hearing.”

Harry, “When is it?”

Arthur, “In five minutes.”

The voice in the lift announced your next stop, “Department of Mysteries.”

Lucius next to Fudge spoke in a hushed tone, continuously glancing at his watch to ensure he got back to you quickly, “And I'm confident, Minister, that you will do the right thing.”

Fudge, “Yes, but we must be...” The pair stopped talking when they saw the pair passing them by heading for the waiting room Harry was expected in until he was called out.

Arthur, “Remember, during the hearing, speak only when you're spoken to. Keep calm. You've done nothing wrong. As the Muggles say, truth will out. Yes?” Harry nodded confirming the phrase, “I'm not allowed in, I'm afraid. Good luck, Harry.” The doors opened and Harry stood at his name being called leaving Arthur seated on the bench alone in the room.

.

Fudge, “Disciplinary hearing of the 12th of July, into offenses committed by Harry James Potter resident at Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic...Witness for the defense.”

His eyes rose to Dumbledore, who stood from his seat stating his name, “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Fudge, “You got our message that the time and place of the hearing had been changed, did you?”

Dumbledore broke his joined hands apart in an aloof wave off to his sides, “I must have missed it. But by a happy mistake, I arrived at the Ministry three hours early. The charges?”

Fudge, “The charges against the accused are as follows: "That he did knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions produce a Patronus Charm in the presence of a Muggle."

Auror, “Do you deny producing said Patronus?”

Harry, “No, but...”

Auror, “And you were aware that you were forbidden to use magic outside school while under the age of 17?”

Harry, “Yes, I was, but...”

Fudge, “Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot...”

Harry, “I was only doing it because of the Dementors.”

Fudge let out a disbelieving chuckle matched by a few around him, “Dementors? In Little Whinging?”

Umbridge, “Highly convenient.”

Harry, “I'm not lying. There were two of them, if I hadn't...”

Fudge, “Enough. I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would be a very well-rehearsed story but since you can produce no witnesses of the event...”

Dumbledore, “Pardon me, minister, but as it happens, we can.”

Fudge’s face dropped and Mrs Figg was shown onto the witness chair Harry emptied to move into the stands behind him. “Please describe the attack. What did they look like?”

Mrs Figg, “Well, one of them was very large and the other rather skinny.”

Fudge, “Not the boys. The Dementors.”

Mrs Figg, “Oh, right, right. Well, big. Cloaked. Then everything went cold...as though all the happiness had gone from the world.”

Fudge, “Now, look here. Dementors don't just wander into a Muggle suburb and happen across a wizard. The odds are astronomical.”

Dumbledore, “I don't think anyone would believe the Dementors were there by coincidence, minister.”

Umbridge cleared her throat then let out a faint giggle, “I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor. Dementors are, after all, under the control of the Ministry of Magic. And it's so silly of me, but it sounded for a moment as though...you were suggesting that the Ministry had ordered the attack on this boy.”

Dumbledore, “That would be disturbing indeed, Madam Undersecretary which is why I'm sure the Ministry will be mounting a full-scale inquiry into why the two Dementors were so very far from Azkaban and why they mounted an attack without authorization. Of course, there is someone who might be behind the attack. Cornelius, I implore you to see reason. The evidence that the Dark Lord has returned is incontrovertible.”

Fudge spat back making Harry’s eyes narrow at the clear fear in his expression, “He is not back.”

Dumbledore, “In the matter of Harry Potter the law clearly states that magic may be used before Muggles in life-threatening situations.”

Fudge, “Laws can be changed if necessary, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore, “Clearly. Has it become practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic?”

Fudge’s eyes narrowed, “Those in favor of conviction?” His, and a few others raised their hands, Lucius not included, who glared across at Umbridge who sent a sneer his way. “Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” The remainder of those who had not voted already raised their hands and Fudge sighed, “Cleared of all charges.” A slam of the gavel and it was all through with Dumbledore storming out as Fudge did the same.

On his feet Harry turned around softly asking to himself, “Professor?”

At the door opening again Arthur entered with a grin saying, “Harry, let’s get you back home, hmm?” Harry nodded and hurried over to him eager to leave this place hoping that his friends would be back soon.

Pt 43

[ivyfics]

Lazy Sunday Afternoon — (fic)

On the screen there are, well… There are wonderful, beautiful things that would look infinitely more interesting on the body next to his than on the person modeling them on the computer. Rows and rows of lace, and cotton, and—is that mesh?

Kuroo helps Tsukki shop for lingerie.

Read on AO3 Commission for @its-love-u-asshole​ This belongs in the Being Gross universe Pairing: Kurotsukki Rating: M 

There are very few things Tetsurou likes more than a lazy Sunday afternoon like today's. They watched a movie, some slasher film that made them giggle at the terrible fake blood and even worse acting, followed by a slightly better (but not good) ghost film.

After some popcorn, and kisses, and then Tetsurou cleaning up the popcorn that scattered from his trying and failing to start a popcorn war, Kei snatched his laptop back and they each faded back to doing their own thing for a while.

It was nice.

Was.

Now Tetsurou is over checking his social media and trading increasingly ridiculous snaps with Bokuto, the room too dim to keep sending them, and he wants attention from the pretty blonde laying next to him.

Kei’s feet are tucked under the pillow next to Tetsurou, giving him the perfect opening to grab him by the ankle and absentmindedly run his thumb over it in circles. There’s not even a peep from Kei, not a hum of acknowledgment or the swift kick to his ribs he usually gets when Tetsurou goes from gentle to ticklish.

Seeing how far he can take it, he moves from Kei’s ankle to his calf, feeling the soft fabric covering Kei’s legs from the outside of his thigh and up to his hip. He pokes at Tsukki hip hard, getting nothing but a bored groan and a hip bump back.

“What are you doing?”

Kei’s voice is low. He’s responding on autopilot, focused on the screen. “Browsing.”

The light radiating from it is the only thing keeping the room from plunging into darkness, white and blue rays diffusing softly over the planes of Kei’s cheeks, his shoulder, all the way to the curve of his bare back where he lays on his stomach. Kei’s glasses are on the nightstand, no glass or reflection hindering Tetsurou’s admiration for the way the light falls on the highest peak of his cheekbone, all the way to the hollow of his clavicle.

Blinds shut tight since it was bright and orange, they’ve been ignoring being actual humans that go and do things outside in favor of not doing that. Now the sky outside is a quiet black that seeps in and bounces off the shut door, isolating them from whatever might be going on in the world beyond the four walls that surround them and each other.

Tetsurou stretches, extending his arm and shaking off the tightness of leaning on it for too long when browsing through his phone before crawling to face away from the headboard. When he’s parallel to where his boyfriend hugs a pillow to his chest to keep upright, he hooks his chin on Kei’s shoulder to be a busybody and see what he’s looking at.

On the screen there are, well…  

There are wonderful, beautiful things that would look infinitely more interesting on the body next to his than on the person modeling them in the computer. Rows and rows of lace, and cotton, and—is that mesh?

Tetsurou stares and stares some more, eyes roaming the tiny thumbnails in varied stages of undress. His eyes catch on a particular pair, some flimsy, gorgeously transparent thing that is less than a third of a step up from being naked while being so much more. He makes some sort of noise and clears his throat to pretend he’s not as thirsty as he is. “Those look nice. Red looks good on you.”

Kei is not buying it. “You say that because it’s your favorite color.”

“Nooooo,“ Tetsurou plays along, “that is so not it.”

He gets a chuckle but not a lot more, Kei’s face entirely too close to the screen to be any kind of healthy or conducive to not fucking up his eyes even more.

Tetsurou manages about a whole minute of silence before, “Do you always shop online?”

“Yeah.”

After it’s clear that there’s no follow-up, he says, “You are a mountain of information. A conversational guru.”

That earns him a “Yup,” Kei’s lip popping at the end.

And nothing else.  

“Tsukki,” he whines.

Kei breaks, mockingly whining back. “Tetsu.”  He also untangles his free hand from the clutches of his pillow and brings it to scratch at the side of Tetsurou’s head, running it slowly through his hair. Whatever pouting Tetsurou was doing melts away in the wake of Kei’s fingers through his scalp, his body going lax and leaning most of his weight on Kei’s side. It’s nice to have someone who understands that what he really means is ‘pay attention to me’.

After a couple of scratches, Kei elaborates. “I tried going in-person when I moved here with the whole ‘I’m shopping for my girlfriend’ excuse—” at which Tetsurou gives a sharp laugh because girlfriend — “but I still kept getting stares. It was kind of uncomfortable so I stopped.”

Tetsurou’s heart shrinks a little at the image of Kei, alone,  just trying to shop and minding his own business, being uncomfortable enough to stop. Kei has mentioned before how it feels for him some days, like there’s a magnifying glass following his every move, like he’s two steps behind from everyone else, like there’s a script he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to think about it, especially if it was before Bokuto did him the solid of his life and forcibly dragged their asses to a conbini to magically run into Kei.

Tetsurou looks at Kei’s profile, sees how he hovers over a particular set that stirs some interest in his gut, reluctant to scroll down. “What about that one?”

Kei freezes.

“That’s a garter belt. And stockings.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou sighs out, hopeful.

Kei looks at him, confusion on his face. “I can’t wear a garter belt.”

There’s no else on this earth that should wear a garter belt more than Kei. “Why not?”

Kei sputters for only a second before settling on, “It’s not practical for everyday.”

“So don’t wear it everyday. You like it,” he insists gently, as to not spook Kei away. He comes on strong anyway when he can’t keep the thirst out of his croaky voice, looking the set over and drinking in the mental image of Kei halfway to naked in a strappy number in front of him. “That one looks really nice.”

They stare at each other for a second. Tetsurou almost breaks, almost, because Kei has to squint to see him properly in the dark when he’s glassless. He has to bite down the inside of his cheek to stop his lips from curling. It’s worth it when Kei gets that he’s not kidding, and looks back to the set he’s been eyeing with a different kind of glint in his eye. Hesitantly, Kei clicks on it.

Tetsurou deserves an award for this. All the awards, any award.

He’s a hero to everything holy and beautiful, truly, the maste—

“There’s no sizing chart for that one.”

Tetsurou deflates.

They move on to the next one but he can tell Kei is a little disappointed. He doesn’t get why Kei wouldn’t get the ones he likes, passing over them to look at more ‘acceptable’ ones, whatever that means. Then again, none of Tetsurou’s issues have ever been about how his body looks, or if he should like the things that he likes—and fuck that dude with the sharpest, driest, hottest burning pitchfork hell has to offer, in particular. If he ever crosses paths with ex-boyfriend number three...

Tetsurou takes upon himself to prod Kei on checking out the less-practical ones he likes with soft hums and words of approval. Kei is—for once—warm even without Tetsurou draped all over him. Tetsurou seizes the chance to slowly trace fingers over his back, following the dip of his spine all the way to where his waistband hugs low on his hip. He interrupts with a bite here or there because he’s handsy like that.

You can't expect him not to be when Kei is so soft, relaxed to the point where he’s almost boneless. When all he does is stretch out so Tetsurou has better access to the column of his neck while he looks for things that are going to drive Tetsurou crazy at one point or another.

Even more than that, he can imagine Kei’s demeanor when he wears things that make him feel good. It’s an amazing thing to see, even better to experience. They way he likes to idly feel the textures against his skin while getting dressed, almost not touching. Tetsurou doesn’t think he’s aware of it.

It’s endearing. Cute.

He kisses a line up Kei’s shoulder just because he can. Then he rubs his cheek on Kei because he knows it makes him laugh and Tetsurou craves that sound like he craves food. He needs it to be alive, chases after it with stupid jokes and crazy antics.

They kiss lazy for a while, Kuroo flopping back down and helping Kei pick things that he likes. Tetsurou manages to stay like that for another hour and a little more, up until he stretches and gets up to make some food because we have to eat something green, Tsukki, popcorn is not gonna feed that gigantic frame of yours for long.

Tetsurou thinks about it. He thinks about it a lot.

Gives it massive amounts of thought, especially when he sees Kei run his hands through the drawer of goodies to feel the fabric with his fingers before picking out one to wear for the day. Ponders the ‘buts’ and ‘ifs’ of it when they spend another lazy Sunday afternoon together and Tetsurou’s encouragement gets him a smile and Kei purchasing something he kept passing over because it wasn’t practical and a bunch of other things that made sense only to Kei.

He makes up his mind when the set Kei bought at Tetsurou’s prodding arrives and Kei unpacks it with barely contained glee. There’s a light blush high on his cheeks when he gingerly picks out the see-through fabric. He’s mesmerized by the feel of it against his hands, forgetting Tetsurou is in the room with him in his excitement.

They’re sitting on the living-room floor at Kei’s, blankets piled around them and something gets stuck in Tetsurou’s chest at the sight of it. It doesn’t miss him that there’s probably not a lot of people who’ve had the privilege of seeing Kei like this, open and sharing of things that are meant only for himself—and maybe Tetsurou, every once in a while.

(Sometimes he wonders if he’s the only one who has, but he stops before his heart gets too big, too fast and implodes.)

Kei is flushed, and giddy, and gorgeous in a sweater that has a hole on the collar, one that belonged to Tetsurou for exactly five years before Kei’s cold grubby thiefy hands stole it from him. He tried to be sneaky but the joke’s on him because Tetsurou would give him anything at all with just a bat of an eyelash or the tilt of a word.

Tetsurou loves him. Loves him so much.

Loves the way he looks when he has just gotten up and is trying to blink himself awake as much as he does when he strips down to nothing while he makes Tetsurou wait in another room just for the sake of first impressions, fitting himself with delicate things.

How he grins when he comes out and Tetsurou’s heart stops because God damn, how the hell is this my life?

How confidence looks on him when he shows off thin, coal arches and straps, like bridges that connect tight mesh to the opaque bands at the top of his thighs, crowning the long, long journey down to the tip of his toes.

How the top of the ensemble is just low enough to show off the tattoos at his hips, the tiny swirl of color that peeks on the top of his shoulder, and Tetsurou’s mouth runs dry and wet at the thought of tracing them with his tongue for what must be the eight-hundred-thousandth time.

He thinks he might die of this one day. If there is any way to die of loving someone too much, then he’s as well as buried.

Also, his boner is killing him.

Kei is killing him, sauntering over without an ounce of shame or self-consciousness. Kei walks to Tetsurou and gives an amused peck to where he’s slack-jawed, getting as close as he can, giving him the mind-numbing pleasure of having Kei flushed against his body. Tetsurou has spent many a sleepless night trying to list the things he might have done in past lives to be able to have this, to wake up and have a life with friends and love and happiness, to deserve being the one Kei decides to obliterate with poise.  

Tetsurou kneels without prompting. Without thought, either. His body responds lacking any input while his mind tries to process. It’s not the most elaborate or fanciful they saw, it’s a clean look that drives him crazy when he feels the fabric that covers Kei’s legs rub against his cheek. This silent synchrony is one they’ve done before, many a time.

Tetsurou knows Kei loves his mouth, likes to see it run and bring the filthiest, truest things to life. It riles both of them up, gets them rearing and ready to go.

Tetsurou doesn’t want that. He wants soft.

He starts slow, so he mouths at the only strip of exposed skin, chomping down and leaving behind a violet bruise. He bites again and leaves another, then one more, because he can. Because Kei hasn’t said not to. He doesn’t stop until there’s a smattering of violet marks painted right above the thick band that connects the stocking to the garter, leading to the inside of his thigh, and Kei is going to have to borrow Tetsurou’s compression shorts just to hide them.  

It wouldn’t be the first time. Once, when Tetsurou had gotten a little too carried away, he had to borrow one of Bokuto’s long spares.

It’s a sight to see.

He pauses, waiting for any signal from Kei and gets none.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Kei makes him wait. When he is wearing that particular smile and an edge that hasn’t quite bled yet into his eyes yet, he makes Tetsurou sit and wait until he decides Tetsurou is allowed to touch or do anything other than drool all over himself.

It’s only happened twice or thrice but there are times when Kei lets the power he holds over Tetsurou go to his head, he gets mean and doesn’t let Tetsurou touch at all. Leaves him hard and hot and wanting as he watches as Kei go about giving himself the pleasure he deserves.

Tetsurou is being left alone to do as he pleases, so he does what he wants. He wants to pay his respects, wants Kei to hear the heavy sigh that leaves his lips to hit pale skin and to feel how breathless he gets. Wants his hands to leave a trail as they run down his thigh with the thick black edge of the seam over strong muscle and pliant body.

Kei doesn’t stop him or get that hard edge that makes Tetsurou’s stomach drop. Instead, he hums at the peck left on his hip, fingers tangling more on the dark mess atop Tetsurou’s head. Tetsurou looks up at him, drunk and so, so hot. He’s burning. “This is the best day of my life.”

Kei laughs openly at that, and paired with the smile that comes out of him, Tetsurou wants to say whatever it will take to make him do it again. “You say that every day.”

“Every day with you is the best day of my life.”

Kei’s breath catches at that, and he closes his eyes like he’s in pain. Tetsurou grins. He’s been there, he knows the way love moves through a body when you feel so much that it hurts . When Kei opens his eyes after a big, deep breath there’s all of that in there. Molten and sweet, “You sappy dork.”

Kei’s fingers in his hair tighten, gripping him suddenly and pressing Tetsurou against the top of his thigh, nose against where Kei is half-hard. Tetsurou bites back a moan at the tug, letting a shiver run down his spine.

“Suck me.”

There’s also this, sometimes. When Kei gets bossy and Tetsurou is more than happy to comply. Kei’s voice is soft, padding around every sense Tetsurou has and leaving him nothing but a goopy, compliant mess. Tetsurou nods and gets to work.  

It really is the best day of his life.

Tetsurou finds him in his usual spot by a tiny campus café. Akaashi is easy to look for, once you know his patterns. He walks up to Akaashi slowly, taking his time in thinking what he’s about to say.

It’s a longshot. The longest of longshots.

But, if there’s anyone he trusts enough to lend him a hand with this, it’s Akaashi. That Kuroo saw the proofs of a particular shoot Bokuto help him with that showcased something very similar to what he’s looking for doesn’t hurt, either.

Kuroo doesn’t waste a second after he seats himself next to Akaashi. “Hello, dear friend. I need your help.”

Akaashi looks at him for a second before putting down his tea and letting out a heavy, resigned sigh. “What did you do this time?”

“What did I—Akaashi, what do you think of me?”

Akaashi gives him a specific look that Tetsurou is sure he stole from Kei. He had to. There’s no mistaking that expression. On the other hand, Tetsurou has asked Akaashi for questionable things in the past. “Alright, fine. It’s for Tsukki.”

Immediately, Akaashi’s demeanor changes. It’s like flipping a switch. Tetsurou would be a little miffed, even jealous if he didn’t get it. Tsukki never asks for anything from any of them other than Tetsurou, and even then it’s after he’s thought it through in every way possible. He’s also very cute, and nice, and discreetly considerate under that layer of snark and everyone wants to give him all the things, including Tetsurou and apparently Akaashi.

Bokuto isn’t constrained by mortal ties and does things for him without care.

Tetsurou backtracks before there can be any misunderstandings to pay for later, “Well, for me and Tsukki. Mostly for him. But a lot for me, too.”

Whatever amount Kei benefits from this seems to be enough. The next thing out of Akaashi’s mouth is, “What do you need?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

Bokuto’s voice rises, unencumbered by the noise the shower makes. He’s got some pipes on him, evidenced by where Kei’s headphones hang limply from his ears so he can enjoy the song Bokuto belts out in the background.

Kei looks at him over the screen of his laptop. He gauges Tetsurou for the better part of a minute before looking back down. “You look too happy. I don’t trust it.”

He looks happy because he is happy. There’s a lot of work to be done and one of his new kids is the biggest pain in the ass to tutor, but Akaashi managed to arrange everything just in time. Bokuto’s voice rises again, going for the high note, and Tetsurou whistles at how he hits it before turning to sit fully facing Kei. He’s in his designated spot in Tetsurou ’s and Bokuto’s shared apartment, on the corner of the couch that has the dip on the side. By designated he means Kei plopped down one day and said ‘this is mine now.’

It used to be Bokuto’s spot. There was no contest.

Tetsurou waits until Bokuto has quieted down for a moment. “Do you trust me?”

Kei just looks at him again, saying nothing for as long as it takes for Bokuto to move on to the next song. “Tsukki!”

Kei rolls his eyes at him, amused. The little shit.  “Obviously, yes. Don’t know why, though. You’ve done terrible things to me.”

“Only when you ask.”

“Oh my god.”

You know, now that the moment has come Tetsurou is feeling a little queasy. This was all a great idea—in his head. Being up-close with the string of decisions he has made and where it has lead them is making him dizzy, heart pounding out of his chest. The walk to the shop was fine, so was standing in front of the whole-in-the-wall façade, unassuming and camouflaged on a small street without a lot of traffic.

Kei was patient and ridiculous enough in his inquisition of where they were going that it was obvious he didn’t really want to know, not even batting an eye at the closed sign on the door. The graying lady that greeted them was great, too! Unobtrusive and letting them go through with just a nod. The sweaty hands started after they went beyond the second entrance, both of them standing like gawking idiots, Kei at the display before him and Tetsurou at his boyfriend.

“Oh my god,” Kei repeats.

Tetsurou voice cracks a little. “Yeah.”

Before them is the mecca of lingerie; any and all kinds, from the racier, more kink inclined to the simpler lace boyshorts Kei favors for everyday. Displays, mannequins, and hangers of all kinds, a sea of lace and silk. It suddenly hits him how off the mark this might be, makes him flounder with a rush of words. “I know it’s sudden, but I thought you’d like something like this every once in a while. Have a little fun. We don’t have to stay. We can leave at any point, and if it’s like—like, too much we can forget about this and go—”

Kei squeezes his hands with too much pressure, effectively shutting him up. What comes out of him is strangled in a way Tetsurou’s come to recognize as good. “Tetsu.”

Tetsurou takes a single breath of pure relief. “Yeah?”

Kei nods, pulling him forward, still a little hesitant but growing surer with every step. They’re alone, having the store for themselves for exactly two hours thanks to Akaashi’s pull, whatever that might be.

“How did you find this place?”

“Akaashi. I asked him if he knew a non-judgy place where I could find stuff in my size. He worked his magic.” Tetsurou isn’t inclined to disclose that they’d be looking for things Kei could wear, not without his boyfriend’s express approval. Kei can’t really approve when it’s a surprise, can he?

“How does Akaashi—”Kei stops, eyes dragging over to a small entryway leading up. It’s dab-smack between displays of fishnet stockings and shiny knee-high boots. Red neon runs through the sides of the walls, making the climb glow with suggestion“—nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

Tetsurou is curious. So curious. He wants to go up and see but he’s not sure his heart is ready for it. Baby steps, he tells himself, another day. He shakes himself out of it, getting to the matter at hand. “Tsukki,” he calls out, smirk already in place, “Let’s shop.”

Kei looks really happy but in an understated kind of way. The way he does when the asshole that steals his seat in that one class is late and has to shamefully slink to the back while Kei basks in his victory, but better because there are only good things happening here. Kei lets go of his hand, going over the displays, touching this and that. It’s a side of him Tetsurou hasn’t experienced before and he drinks it in, trying to add this to his Tsukki repertoire. Eventually, he drifts and browses on his own, letting Kei have some space to look without Tetsurou hovering over him. He finds some things that catch his eye, a lacy thing here, some silk there. It’s a different experience from how he usually shops, a different kind of feel to be surrounded by things that are so delicate and unlike what he usually looks for. It’s a nice change.

He makes it back to the wall were stockings are stacked one above the other and spaces out for a little bit, mind getting lost in the memory of Kei and stockings together. His eyes cross in his daydream and when they focus back, he freezes.  

Tetsurou takes a single look at a high shelf above the entrance to the stairs, where a gagged mannequin is on display and flushes from head to toe,  doing a one-eighty to face something that will not kill him and out his kinks to the nice old lady who must be monitoring them through cameras. It doesn’t work because he’s met front and center with Kei making googly eyes at something that should be illegal.

On display there is something strappy and black, two of Kei’s favorite things as Tetsurou has learned. It’s also strappy, black and can be described as a body cage, so Tetsurou is going to die. Full on buried, mourned, with a headstone that will read killed by lingerie, his boyfriend, and his thirsty dick.

Kei is flushed, too, but for obviously different reasons. Excitement runs through his features as he circles the mannequin. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning, and Kuroo is torn between soft and mushy, and really hard and horny.

This is what it’s all about. Kei looks… like he should always look, at ease. Excited. Void of anything uncomfortable or pressing. Tetsurou pulls out his phone to send Akaashi seventeen grinning cat emojis.  

“Want to try it on?”

This time, when Kei looks over at him there’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

“This was a terrific, terrible idea.”

Kei meets his eyes in the mirror with mischief, hands touching the fabric that clings to his chest. “So, good?

He’s evil. His boyfriend is the evilest of evil. Come see how it looks, he said, tell me if it’s okay . Okay? Okay doesn’t exist in this context. Kei looks like something out of a dream. Tetsurou couldn’t hide the want in his voice even if he tried.

The best part of it?

The best part is that Kei knows how he looks, all toned skin and metal rings, black ribbons and lean muscles. The only thing portraying decency in the outfit are the briefs Kei wears underneath it. Even then, they do nothing to hide how the harness pulls into the vee of his hips and frames the soft curve where his cock rests.

All that does is make Tetsurou’s mind cannonball into how it would look with Kei hard, wet and pink all over—

“This needs to be immortalized.”

Kei pretends, of course he does. He loves torturing Tetsurou like this.

In Tetsurou’s head this was meant to be a—a healing, fun thing they could do together, something nice where he would be supportive and share something Kei likes with him. Tetsurou should have known better after all this time. He should have anticipated the coy look Kei throws his way with a soft, “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Evil.

Tetsurou closes his eyes and tries. Tries to keep his composure. “Don’t,” he says, trying so hard.

He’s grateful that this dressing room is a private one, far back at the end of the shop. That there’s what feels like miles and eons between them and the outside, and that a camera in a dressing room is an iffy thing so maybe he won’t have to look at the lady ringing them up with the knowledge that she watched while Tetsurou battled with the hardness of his dick in public.

It’s not huge, but the high-backed chair for companions to wait is comfortable and gives the room a little oomph , matching the champagne drapes that close off the changing area. The rug beneath him looks incredibly soft and the lights are dim enough to not give that garish fluorescent look.

It’s tasteful, a lot nicer than he originally thought it would be. Every new thing, every passing glance makes him burn with curiosity as to how Akaashi even has any leverage to pull here.

Kei strings him along and he goes easy. In any other circumstance he’d put up a good fight but at the end of the day, Tetsurou knows he’s helpless against Kei when he’s like this. “Don’t what? I’m not doing anything,” Kei says with an air of innocence around him, completely fabricated, adulterated, fake.

Tetsurou has been so good. So good. He’s been polite, respectful. Was nice to the old lady when she ushered them into the dressing room. Tetsurou made a promise to himself to keep today clean and not about him or any of his appendages. He has made exactly zero dick jokes today.

Zero. Dick. Jokes.

“Tsukki,” he whines, slightly, “I’m trying.”

In the end, resistance is futile. His hands find perch on Tsukki’s hips, bringing him close to feed on how he looks. How he feels. Kei wiggles closer shamelessly, enjoying being on display. “Trying to what? I don’t know what you mean.”

Kei is impossible. “You’re so mean,” he says, leaning in to press their foreheads together.“And so hot. Why are you so hot?”

Kei’s lips curl into amusement, his arms coming up to wrap around Tetsurou’s neck.“Emotional bias?”

“Maybe.” Tetsurou loses this little game of theirs and presses a kiss to the corner of Kei’s mouth, just to feel it curl some more. “Just a little.”

Kei chases after it this time, leaning in hard and stealing Tetsurou’s breath away. Kei’s arm at his neck wraps tighter, fingers digging in against Tetsurou’s scalp and it spurs them on, mouths growing frantic against each other.

Whatever sweetness lingers is lost to the scrape of Kei’s teeth along Tetsurou’s bottom lip, pulling a gasp and a harder grip on bare hips. Tetsurou gets lost in it, in the feel of Kei against him, working to make Tetsurou lose his head and press harder against whatever he can.  

His fingers sink into the give of Kei’s ass and he moans, a beautiful low sound that sets Tetsurou’s skin on fire. He walks both of them until Kei’s back hits the wall, hand trailing down to pull a heavenly thigh up against his waist so he can grind up and—

Kei breaks away, panting. “We have to stop.” His eyes are closed and he looks as pained as Tetsurou feels. “I like this place. We are not fucking in a dressing room when the nice old lady could walk in or knock the door at any second. We have to be decent.”

Tetsurou hates it. He hates it when he lets Kei’s thigh go and drops his forehead to rest on his shoulder, trying to calm down. “You’re right.”

“Just think of the old lady.”

“There goes my dick.” Tetsurou pulls back to look at Kei’s flushed face. “You do look amazing. I’m not just saying that so I can get a piece.”

Kei’s face softens in a way that sets Tetsurou’s heart on fire. “Thank you. For this.” He sighs and leans his head back on the wall to look at Tetsurou with content.“It has been really fun.”

Tetsurou doesn’t know what his face is doing but he’s sure it’s something dumb. “I’m glad torturing me was amusing to you.”

Somehow, they manage to run through all the things Kei wants to try on without any further incidents, just a lot of heated staring and suggestive looks. They’ve got a decent haul ready and are sorting through what they’re going to get before calling the old lady (whose name is Nakanishi-san, according to the text Akaashi sent Tetsurou a while back) so that she can ring them up. Kuroo has been planning this for a while, apparently.

He wouldn’t  give Kei a straight answer the previous two times he’s asked, so he’s going to take a hint and not ask anymore.

Nakanishi-san has been very kind in giving them a lot of room to roam around, not pushing for anything specific or trailing after them. She popped in once to ask how things were going—thankfully after they had been in a less compromising situation, Kuroo back on the companion’s area by himself—and to tell them to come up to her when they had decided what they were taking home.

They sort through their picks now, Kei checking over what he definitely wants and what he can come back for later, and he is definitely coming back. He’s picking up the harness to try and place on his pile without it tangling when Kuroo plucks it from his hands, adding it to his. “My treat.”

Kei frowns. It’s not super expensive, but it’s the priciest thing he’s getting and Kuroo has enough on his plate to spend that (plus the stuff on his secretive buy pile) on him. Bringing him here, spending the afternoon together is enough. “Kuroo.”

Kuroo bumps him with his hip, giving him a smirk that shouldn’t be reassuring but is. “My treat,” he says again, “you’ll get the next one.”

Kei relents. He can very rarely say no to Kuroo when he’s like this. It’s like he’s walking on air, all nice and soft and free. Like there’s not a single care in the world. He loves Tetsurou like this, so he relents and makes an internal promise to put on a show he knows his boyfriend will appreciate in the near future. He knows he doesn’t have to, Kuroo wouldn’t be okay with Kei thinking that he  owes anything for a gift, but he wants to. He gets a lot out of it, too.

Kei goes through his buy pile, moving another pair to his get later pile, and takes a peek at Tetsurou’s.

There’s some white lace briefs that look a little too big for Kei’s hips. An identical black pair is already put away in his buy pile, so he doesn’t think too much when he says, “White washes me out.”

Kuroo turns to smile at him slowly, and it’s that smile of his that’s all teeth and bad intentions, the one that makes Kei a little weak in the knees when he gets the full brunt of it. An alarm goes off in the back of his head, one that tells him that the feeling growing in his gut is the one prey gets when it’s been snared.  

This is bad, bad bad bad—

“These ones,” Kuroo says pointedly, holding the delicate fabrics to his chest, “are not for you. ”

[filmstruck]

One Moment in Time: Fashion Goes ‘90s with UNZIPPED By Nathaniel Thompson

Right now, we take it for granted how in-fashion documentaries have become, be it in art houses or every streaming platform you can think of. However, not so long ago it was a rarity to see nationwide, mainstream theaters running a documentary feature, even on more than one screen in some cases. Such was the case with UNZIPPED (1995), which Miramax unveiled during one of its all-time greatest years wedged among such titles as BULLETS OVER BROADWAY, IL POSTINO, MURIEL’S WEDDING, KIDS and PRIEST.

A fizzy, splashy concoction streaming as part of the “Couture du cinema” spotlight, UNZIPPED was originally made via independent financing by photographer Douglas Keeve after distributors turned him down en masse, leaving the bulk of funds to come from magazine publisher Hachette Filipacchi. However, it ended up nabbing an Audience Award at Sundance and promptly ignited a bidding war with Fine Line and Miramax among the most aggressive contenders. The latter ended up winning, after an awkward moment in which Fine Line publicly announced its acquisition of the film. Oops.

The film came on the heels of some well-publicized pop-culture documentaries, chief among them MADONNA: TRUTH OR DARE (1991), also a Miramax release, and Fine Line’s HOOP DREAMS (1994). What sets this one apart, though few knew it at the time, was that Keeve made the film over a year and a half as a passion project with designer Isaac Mizrahi, whom he had been dating at the time for three years. A top-line photographer and videographer, Keeve later clarified during press appearances that the movie had nothing to do with their eventual breakup.

Classic movie buffs might not be surprised that Keeve cited one particular film as an influence, or a dare if you will: FUNNY FACE (1957), Stanley Donen’s cheeky ribbing of the fashion industry as experienced by precocious beatnik Audrey Hepburn. In particular, that Paramount musical featured a thinly veiled portrayal of VOGUE editor Diana Vreeland played by Kay Thompson, including the boisterous opening song, “Think Pink.” UNZIPPED also ends up taking a page from NANOOK OF THE NORTH (1922), though you’ll have to watch to find out how!

Probably because of its splashy fashion-world setting and ample celebrity connections, UNZIPPED was a pretty high-profile film to catch if you lived in a relatively large city in the mid-‘90s. It even had a suitably swanky premiere in Los Angeles in July of 1995 (seriously, this is something 99.9% of documentaries would never get), with a much-reported incident involving Ellen Barkin spilling a drink on herself and swapping dresses with Naomi Campbell, who snagged a new white one from her backup supply. Not surprisingly, all the gowns involved were Mizrahi designs.

But back to Mizrahi and Keeve. The whole idea of one half of a couple doing a feature-length documentary about the other for an extended period of time doesn’t sound all that radical, but it’s still fascinating how Keeve brings absolutely none of that connection to the film itself. If you didn’t read interviews with either of them around the time it came out, you’d have no idea there was anything beyond a standard professional agreement going on. Keeve himself wasn’t exactly an established filmmaker at the time so maybe that accounts for the professional distance here; he’s also a ruthless editor, paring the film down to the bone and clocking the final cut in at under 80 minutes. He explained this decision during his press appearances around the film’s release when he sat down with LA Village View and said, “You don’t really know Isaac at all from this movie and you don’t know much about fashion. You’re lucky if you get one percent of anything. You just get a little teeny piece of his life, but I try to give you as much as possible, and that’s one reason that I cut so fast. The movie’s an hour and fifteen minutes long, and I didn’t want it to be one second longer. I had so much genius footage that was left out, but I hate long movies. Leave ‘em wanting more – that’s the best thing you can do. Make it short and sweet. This is a fashion movie, it’s a fun documentary, and it’s like bang, bang, bang, and you’re done.”

That means UNZIPPED is an ideal film to watch on just about any type of screen, from a large TV to your phone. It isn’t about large-scale spectacle but about capturing a snapshot of the experience of being in the fashion industry, where Mizrahi’s colorful personality found a way to thrive. Though he currently judges for Project Runway: All Stars and remains one of the top signature names in American fashion, Mizrahi isn’t in the public eye as much anymore; perhaps his personality isn’t quite as distinctive in a post-Glee world where extended jokes about WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE? (’62) definitely feel like they’re from another century.

That means despite its popular appeal at the time, UNZIPPED isn’t a film you hear brought up all that often either. Others have tried to copy the same formula but with far less notable results, most obviously David Furnish’s ode to partner Elton John with TANTRUMS & TIARAS (1997), but this one actually holds up quite well. That could be due to the fact that it’s such a vivid snapshot of a point in time that’s unique in the film world: indie films could command significant screen space in multiplexes; Miramax was the hottest up and coming kid in town in Hollywood; and a fly-on-the-wall look at the fashion world and one of its most colorful princes was the stuff of major motion pictures instead of weekly reality shows.

[matchingvnecks]

Andrew Rannells: Girls’ Best Friend

As Girls enters its finale season, we visit its resident gay best friend Andrew Rannells for a look at how his career has evolved — along with his character on the hit series.

There’s no missing Andrew Rannells. From the instant he strides onstage in the current Broadway revival of Falsettos, you’ll notice that, at 6’1”, he towers over his costars. Put his bearded face on a product, and it would move a mountain of Brawny towels or sell enough cans of Manwich to feed an army. Clean-shaven — as Rannells is onstage tonight — he radiates a post-fratboy glow that still find him playing parts a decade younger than his 38 years. Rannells’ evolution from fresh to familiar face has been like watching an languid summer afternoon roll by. He’s gracefully lept from Promise Ring roles like Elder Price, which he originated in the hit musical The Book of Mormon, to more acerbic characters like Elijah, the one-man Greek chorus who appears to pamper (then puncture) the inflated egos of the galpals who populate the beloved HBO series, Girls. It’s not easy, he says, but “I know my skill set and my strengths. I just do what I do.” Stage vs. Screen In demand on two coasts, Rannells has a Red Bull-binge awareNess that this is his moment, and he’s determined to make the most of it. Much of the time, he ricochets from sitcom sets to the stages of Broadway stage. These days he’s wrapping up Girls’ sixth and final season. Between that and Falsettos, Rannells briefly stepped in to play King George in Hamilton when Jonathan Groff left to finish the Looking film finale. One can’t help but wonder how long Rannells thinks it’s possible to maintain this bustling bi-coastal, multi-media lifestyle — and whether one career path must ultimately win out. ”Well, theater will always be nearest and dearest,” Rannells muses. “It’s where I feel most comfortable and in control and happiest.” He knows it’s rare to be in such demand that he can pick and choose between theater and TV projects. But his coworkers and representation have long become accustomed to Rannell’s need to alternate between screen and stage: “They understand,” he says with certainty. “I need this to recharge.” Despite living in a maelstrom of activity, Rannells remains remarkably polite, grateful and calm. Why? “I’m fortunate to be a gay man at a time when there are great roles to play,” he explains. “I’ve been lucky that way, because I have no issue playing gay men — since I am one — as long as there’s a good script. You just have to find the right ones.” Finding His People Rannells attributes his breezy optimism to his Irish/Polish origins in Omaha, Nebraska, where he was born fourth of five children. Neither oldest nor youngest, Rannells had to distinguish himself somehow; theater quickly became his ticket out of obscurity. “I was not initially very outgoing,” he admits, “but through my involvement with theater, I gradually became more comfortable. “I do remember back in kindergarten I developed a strange little clique that lasted up through eighth grade,” he says, flashing that megawatt smile. “Three guys who eventually came out as gay. Obviously that was a godsend, because they were accepting of me and I of them — even though being gay was never openly spoken about. It was, somehow, something we understood between the three of us. I mean, I remember lip-syncing to Cher in my friend’s basement.” Rannells attended an all-boys Catholic high school where “it took me a second to find my people. But eventually I made a great group of friends, some of whom I’m still in touch with,” he recalls. “While it was all-male, it was also a Jesuit school, where the teachings are ones of acceptance and there’s a lot of room for interpretation of the scriptures.” As a teen, Rannells became a familiar fixture on local stages, and by 18 he’d landed a string of voice-over parts and a commercial spoofing Grease opposite a young Amy Adams. But New York was always tugging at his sleeve, and so — with little more than the zeal to perform — Rannells moved East and began parlaying his voiceover experience into directing cartoons for Fox and Warner Brothers. “I did Sonic the Hedgehog,” he laughs, “along with many others. I directed the voiceover portion. So there I was at 23, trying to get performances out of actors making these Saturday morning cartoons and trying to sync to the originals when we dubbed them over from Japanese.” At the same time, the sense of treading water gnawed at him, until finally something snapped, he says. “I was going deeper and deeper into debt; so I thought I’d see if could just get anywhere by auditioning.” Rannells quit school and began seeing casting agents.

Saying “Hello!” to Broadway In 2002, Rannells was cast to play the title role in an Austin, Texas production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. The show was a runaway hit and quickly ballooned from a four-week to a four-month run. He walked away with the local scene’s award for best actor in a musical. That was heartening, but only a hint of things to come. “My big break,” Rannells always says, “came from Hairspray.” “I was an understudy for nine months — then to get to be a lead on Broadway was something amazing.” By then, Hairspray was already in its third year; so although he could finally call himself a Broadway song-and-dance man, Rannells wasn’t exactly hot on the radar of industry professionals who could put him in bigger parts. His whole universe shifted again when the actor learned about a hush-hush project being assembled by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the creators of South Park. Rannells says he landed the lead in The Book Of Mormon the old fashioned way: by auditioning. “The people behind the show were very secretive, and all we really knew was: that it was about the Mormon church, it was a musical, and that Trey Parker and Matt Stone were doing it.” He heard that the producers were replacing the actor who’d played the role of Elder Price at early readings. “It was really fast,” he says. “It was three auditions: … Something clicked, and I was cast.” Soon after opening, the show became the hottest ticket in town. “I had no idea that it would become what it has,” Rannells admits, “but it was so funny and so smart, I knew we were going to have a very solid audience. It was a surprise that it’s as universal a hit as it has become, that it’s still running and traveled to Salt Lake City.” The Book of Dunham Book of Mormon also allowed Rannells to look for TV roles filmed in NYC. So he took an initially-peripheral role in Girls as Elijah, ex-boyfriend to Hannah (played by series star and creator Lena Dunham). Elijah comes out to her as gay in the show’s third episode. Then, two years into the run of Mormon, Rannells took a vacation during TV pilot season and dashed to LA, where he threw himself into a series of meetings. One of them was with Ryan Murphy, the maestro behind Glee and American Horror Story. “I learned he was working on a show about gay parents [based on Murphy’s own life], and I asked him about it. I had this strange moment of confidence. I thought, ‘I don’t know much about this, but I want to be a part of it.’” A month later, he got the offer to play Murphy’s alter-ego in The New Normal. Rannells had two seasons under his belt playing bestie to the ladies of Girls; so he was understandably itchy to play a lead. He met with Dunham and series producer Judd Apatow. “They said of course I had to try this.” Despite the magic of the Murphy name, The New Normal struggled to find its audience. The challenge was evident: Shows like Modern Family and Will & Grace proved that America could embrace gay characters, but were network audiences ready for a show where gay people were central rather than showcased for spice or comic relief? Normal was cancelled at the end of its first season. When asked if the show was ahead of its time, Rannells is quick to respond: “That’s exactly what I think. Modern Family was very successful and Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Eric Stonestreet were hugely popular; so it seemed like a good time for a show like ours. But New Normal was principally about gay people trying to have a baby, and Justin Bartha and I were the focus. We had a great cast with Ellen Barkin, Bebe Wood and the rest, but — at its heart — it was the gay couple’s story. Maybe it was too soon for that.”

The show ended, but Rannells didn’t miss a beat. In no time, he says, “Lena offered me my job back on the third season of Girls and it’s been great to be back and see Elijah grow and evolve.” In fact, Elijah has since gone on to become one of the most multi-layered gay characters ever put on a television screen. He’s dealt with issues of sexual fluidity — sleeping with Allison Williams’ character Marnie, and when Hannah’s Dad came out as gay late in life, he turned to Elijah for comfort and counsel. Most recently, Elijah grappled with his desire for monogamy while dating a decidedly non-monagamous TV personality (played by House of Cards alum Corey Stoll). In a show that relies on irresponsible antics for its humor, Elijah often ends up the only adult in the room. “This season, I’m looking forward to showing even more different parts of Elijah. He’s no longer the messy friend, you know?” Rannells offers. “And there’s the storyline with Cory Stoll, where I get to continue to try to be more grown up and proud. Of course, Elijah still observes the girls just as the audience does, and I still get to call them out on their B.S. and being narcissistic.” Getting Bigger Dreams Rannells is now weighing his options for the future, since Girls will soon say goodbye and the lights of Falsettos won’t stay lit forever. “It’s like Oprah says, once you’ve achieved a dream, you’ve got to get bigger dreams,” he reasons. “That’s sort of been my approach. You get where you wanted to go, and move the line several steps.” It’s worth noting that Rannells’ star has risem parallel to the end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and the beginning of marriage equality. Unlike generations before him, he was not as seriously faced with the possibility that being openly gay and playing gay characters could threaten his career. But he’s wary that the incoming Trump administration may yet prove a danger to that kind of freedom. “What to do? “My plan is to stay vigilant,” he says.

Now when he’s asked if playing gay characters has limited him, Rannells sets the doubters straight: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone ask straight guys if it’s limiting playing a straight guy. I know a lot of gay roles are played by straight people, and if they’re the best people for the job — well, fine. But playing gay? I have a little insight into that.” The final season of Girls premieres Sunday, February 12 on HBO. Visit hbo.com for more details.

[redheadgleekfic]

these inconvenient fireworks - chapter 10

Title: these inconvenient fireworks Fandom: glee Link: FF.net (T rated version). AO3. Tumblr. Warnings: None apply. Rating: Mature to explicit. (we finally earn it!). Pairings: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson, very slight Kurt/Adam at the beginning.

Written for the @fandomtrumpshate 2020 charity auction for @sunshineoptimismandangels. Completed as part of the @wipbigbang project. Artwork by kaydrew86/aaweth-edain. Thanks to @snarkyhag, @wowbright, and @slowcookedwriting for their handholding, cheerleading, and betaing of this fic. This fic really did require a village.

Summary: After an unexpected Tony award, Kurt Hummel is Broadway's hottest up and coming star, which comes with expectations and some admirers that won't take a hint. When his best friend Elliott Gilbert suggests that they pretend to fake-date to get the leeches to back off, Kurt takes him up on the idea. It's all working out great - until Kurt starts to fall hard for the dark-haired music director of his latest musical.

Read the tenth and final chapter on AO3, the safe for work version on FF.net, or click below to continue reading on tumblr.

*

“Fifteen minutes until curtain!”

“Shit!”

“You’ve got this.” Blaine murmurs encouragingly, his voice pitched low and calm. “Eyes closed. Keep breathing in through your nose … hold 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and out through your mouth, 2, 3, 4. And again. In…. hold…. out.”

The women of the chorus cluster around him, dressed in their black and white habits of the first act, holding hands as they breathe. For some, it’s their first professional performance and sudden nerves had cropped up when he had gathered them for a quick vocal warm-up.

He takes them through the routine of singing scales, gives them a lozenge, and guides them through the meditative breathing as their anxiety decreases. “Alright, you can breathe normally and open your eyes.”

He looks at each one of his girls and his eyes become a little misty. “You are going to be marvelous tonight.” He tells them. “Your hard work these last few months has paid off and look at where you are. You deserve this. I am so proud of you. Now go kick butt.”

He hugs each of them fiercely, sending them to their spot to wait for the curtain to rise and putters around the little alcove just off the stage, where he has water, tea with honey, lemon slices, and throat lozenges set up to soothe their throats in between performances.

Brad is conducting the orchestra tonight—he and Blaine will switch off conducting performances after this—so there isn’t much for him to do doing the performance itself, other than supporting his cast and reassuring them against last minute nerves. Blaine’s restless as he flits backstage, their collective nervousness rubbing off on him, but he’s also confident in their abilities.

Blaine honestly can’t process how much his life has changed in the last two weeks. He and Brad had managed to create an orchestral version of his song and got it recorded in the studio in two days, a feat that Blaine’s still not sure how they managed. He now has an agent recommended by Wes, Santana Lopez, who has a sharp mind and equally sharp tongue. With her help, he’s been navigating the multiple recording deal offers that have cropped up—going viral means that everybody is eager to sign him, but with Santana’s help, he’s making sure that he’s doing what he wants to do.

Mercedes and Marley have also taken him under his wing. During the final weeks of dress rehearsals, they were on set much more frequently, so Blaine has been able to make sure there were no lingering hard feelings with the addition of his song. He’s had dinner with them a couple of times where they’ve talked about the pitfalls of composing music and navigating the complex music scene. Blaine’s grateful that he has the play’s opening to focus on, which allows him a touch of breathing room while he contemplates his future career.

“Knock, knock.” A voice says behind him, jolting him from his thoughts. .

Blaine whirls around. “Hi! Why aren’t you on stage? They’re calling for you.”

Kurt waves away his concerns with one hand. “Oh, I know. I just wanted to give you this first.” He whips out a bouquet of red and yellow roses from behind his back. “To thank you for all that you’ve done for me. These are to celebrate you.”

“Kurt.” Blaine breathes, clutching the flowers close. “They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to—"

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“I should be the one giving you flowers.” Blaine protests lightly. “You’re the star. You’re going to be amazing out there tonight.”

“But I wouldn’t be if not for you. I wouldn’t be half as prepared without your guidance.” Kurt insists.

Blaine pulls Kurt into a hug, careful not to crush either his roses or Kurt’s costume. “Thank you.” He whispers into Kurt’s neck and Kurt clutches him closer. He pulls back slightly to meet Kurt’s ocean-deep eyes. “I… meant what I said, the other day at Callbacks. Your belief in me saved me, Kurt.”

Kurt dips his head, bumping their foreheads together. “You saved me too.”

For a long moment, Blaine doesn’t move as he drinks in the imprint of Kurt’s warmth, his hand tightly pressed against his back, his smell from his cologne and shampoo and mouthwash. It’s heady in its intimacy and Blaine wishes he could stay here forever.

He can’t though. He can’t offer anything more than friendship to Kurt and stay true to himself and he knows this. There’s attraction simmering between them—that’s not the issue. He can’t have an open relationship as much as he wants to date Kurt. He’s letting his emotions get away from him, like he did at Callbacks when he exposed his heart by singing to Kurt. Thankfully, Kurt’s partner’s sudden illness had brought Blaine back to his senses. It’s not fair to him or to Kurt.

“Your friendship means everything to me.” He breaks away with a small laugh and cough before he does something very foolish. “Are you okay, though?” Blaine asks lightly when he can trust his voice not to betray his emotions. “It can’t be easy going on stage when your partner is so sick. Have they left the hospital yet?”

“They’re much better, but I- I’m not dating Chaz.” Kurt says slowly.

“Oh, is it like a branch then? A V? I’m afraid I’m not up to date with my polyamory terminology.” He laughs again, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

“Blaine.” Kurt steps closer. “I’m not dating either of them. Elliott and Chaz have been in a relationship for years, although after this scare, they’re talking marriage now for legal protections. They’re poly, that’s true, but I’m not.”

“But I thought, you and Elliott—"

“I know.” Kurt bites his lip nervously. “It’s a long, ridiculous story and I’ll tell you all of it, but… I’m not dating anybody right now.”

“Oh.” Blaine says. “Oh. I’m not either.”

“Yeah?”

“Then, um—"

“Kurt!” Adam gestures wildly at them from the hall, breaking the moment. “Come on. Unique’s looking for you. We need to be in spots now.”

Kurt huffs and shakes his head. “We keep getting interrupted. Later?”

“Later.” Blaine promises. On an impulse, he leans in and kisses Kurt lightly, sealing the promise. “Break a leg.”

Kurt blinks at him as he backs away, with those luminous, shiny eyes. “Yeah. Later.”

*

The show is incredible. Not that Blaine ever doubted that it wouldn’t come together, but it’s better than he could have dreamed. The actors all perform superbly without a missed word or hitched note and the audience reacts with gasps and loud laughter. Kitty’s song about politicians keeping their hands out of medicine seems to be an unexpected hit given the spontaneous standing ovation she receives. Tina’s Sister Marigold is saucy and sweet and Adam’s no-nonsense and sensible David is the perfect balance to the inane premise.

But it’s Kurt who steals the show. His Brian is endearing, bitingly humorous, and emotionally vulnerable, and the audience hangs on to every word he says. The crowd is silent when he sings “Wanted” for the first time, his clear voice reaching to the rafters, and Blaine wipes away tears when they explode with applause. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of Kurt singing his song.

Ryan Durphy comes to the stage at curtain call, along with Mercedes Jones and Marley Rose. “I believe in the power of theater to change hearts.” He says simply to thunderous applause. “This is what you have witnessed tonight and I thank you for opening our hearts and welcoming us in.”

“We want to give a special recognition to the people behind the scenes who make musical magic as they are often overlooked.” Tina says as the applause dies down. “Please give a round of applause to our set designers, our costume designers, our choreographers, and our lighting and tech crew.”

“Unique Adams, our amazing stage director,” Kurt continues and looks back directly at Blaine with a bright smile, “and our music directors, Brad Ellis and Blaine Anderson.”

There’s a hand suddenly at his back shoving him through the curtains and Blaine stumbles out into the bright spotlight with Unique. She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Even with the most talented of performers, these productions are impossible without their talent and hard work. It’s been an honor to work with them.” Kurt finishes with applause of his own and beckons them to take a bow of their own and Kitty hands him and Unique matching bouquets of irises and leans down to give one to Brad, who, true to himself, manages to look both stunned and disappointed at the gesture, but Blaine spies Brad wiping his eyes surreptitiously.

It’s a tangle of hugs and kisses backstage as everybody laughs and the champagne is poured. He loses Kurt in the chaos of congratulations being shared. Ryan shakes his hand somberly and tells him that he looks forward to future collaborations, which he recognizes as high praise from the mogul.

The mingling cast slowly disappears to the dressing rooms to get ready for the cast party. After retrieving his present stored in his locker, Blaine makes his way down the hallway, his flowers clutched in his hand, thinking back to the time just a few months ago, when he had taken a stranger’s hand to find the rehearsal room.

He knocks on the dressing room door. “Come in!” Kurt calls brightly, as if he were expecting him. Maybe he was.

Blaine firmly shuts and locks the door behind him. It feels a little presumptuous, perhaps, but it gives him something to do as he gathers his courage.

He turns around and his mouth goes dry.

Kurt’s half dressed, tight black jeans snug at his hips, and shirtless. The string of candle lights around the mirror make his pale skin glow. His face is cleaned of the heavy stage make-up and he is … beautiful.

Blaine coughs and manages to keep his eyes on Kurt’s face. “Congratulations on tonight, Kurt. You were as amazing as I thought you would be. Here.” He thrusts the tube towards him. “For you.”

“For me?” Kurt opens the tube and pulls out the papers inside.

“It’s your song. ‘Wanted’. They’ve, um, printed it, of course, with the rest of the score, but this is the first version I wrote, that we worked on together. I thought you might like to have it.”

Kurt stares for a long moment at the papers, sliding his fingers over the familiar notes. He carefully puts the music back in the tube and sets it on the table. He takes Blaine’s bouquets from him, setting them on the table as well, and then, Kurt places a hand on Blaine’s jaw and kisses him.

Blaine had expected the kiss to be sex-crazed with all of the simmering pheromones sparking between them, but it’s tender instead. Kurt kisses Blaine slowly, softly pressing his lips to Blaine’s and coaxing them open to deepen the kiss with more pressure.

“You gave me a song.” Kurt says and kisses him again.

Blaine tilts his head under Kurt’s seeking lips. His hands move up Kurt’s sides, feeling the heat from his skin, trying to draw him closer.

Kurt breaks the kiss and Blaine whines, chasing after his lips. “Wait, wait.” Kurt says, leaning away. “Just tell me, you’re not dating Tina, right?”

Blaine stares at Kurt’s mouth dumbly, trying to process the words. “Tina’s my roommate.”

“Right.”

“She’s hooking up with Mike.”

“Oh! Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“I’m gay.”

“Oh, good.”

“You didn’t know I was gay?”

“I didn’t want to presume. There’s more than one type of sexuality, you know. Bi. Pan. And you two were so close.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, kissing him again, “I have been wanting to do this,” another kiss, “for weeks and I couldn’t because I thought you wanted a polyamorous relationship.” He presses his lips against Kurt’s firmly, before dragging them down his jaw and sucking a kiss just below his ear.

“That’s our problem then,” Kurt says breathlessly, “we presume too much.”

Blaine kisses that spot again. “I presume,” he says with a low laugh, “that you like it when I do that.”

“Blaine. Oh. Oh…” Kurt turns into putty as Blaine continues to suck at his jawline while stroking his hands up and down over Kurt’s soft skin. His breath becomes more ragged in Blaine’s ear as Blaine coaxes out little gasps of pleasure. Kurt pushes his body more firmly between Blaine’s legs and Blaine gasps again at the feel of Kurt’s strong, warm body against him.

Blaine’s eyes catch on Kurt’s nipple, dusky against his white skin, and he bends down to brush his tongue over it. Kurt digs his fingers into the loosening curls at the back of Blaine’s neck, encouraging him on. Blaine licks the pinkening nipple again, before pulling back to rest his hands on Kurt’s hips.

Kurt’s lips are reddened, glistening in the light, looking thoroughly kissed. “No... Why’d you stop? Come here.”

Blaine rubs his hands just above the waistband of Kurt’s pants, caressing the soft skin overlying his hip. “May I? Please? I want to touch you. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Kurt pants and surges in for another kiss, arms winding around Blaine’s shoulders.

Blaine manages, somehow, to undo Kurt’s buttons and get the zipper down. He’s too intoxicated by Kurt’s taste and sound to be able to figure out how to get the pants off and he needs more of Kurt’s body against him now.

Blaine breaks the kiss. “Turn around?” Blaine asks. “So I can touch you better.”

Kurt gives him another lingering kiss, and then slowly, seductively spins around. Blaine slides his arms around Kurt’s waist, rubbing his hand against Kurt’s abdomen and feeling the muscles contract underneath the soft skin with his touch, while pressing kisses along the knobs of Kurt’s spine. Blaine slides his hand down into Kurt’s underwear, allowing Kurt’s cock to rest fully in his palm, before reaching further down and rolling Kurt’s balls between his fingers until they draw up tight. Kurt whines, taking advantage of the changed position to shove his pants and underwear down his hips, all while Blaine keeps a steady grip on Kurt’s stiffening dick, so perfectly enveloped by Blaine’s hand.

There’s too much distance between them. Blaine needs Kurt on him, against him, surrounding him.

Blaine shuffles them back the short distance towards the loveseat. “Can we?” Blaine says, nudging Kurt’s hip and gesturing to the sofa.

“You’ve got my dick in your hand. I’ll follow you anywhere.” Kurt jokes and Blaine huffs in delighted surprise.

Blaine slumps down on the sofa with a completely ungraceful thump. He tugs on Kurt’s hip, urging Kurt down on top of him as Blaine shifts to lean more fully on the loveseat. Kurt goes easily, landing on Blaine’s lap with a soft moan. Blaine’s own hips buck up involuntarily as Kurt’s bare ass rubs with firm pressure against his own straining, but clothed cock. He contemplates briefly having Kurt get up again so he can remove his own pants and let his cock fully nestle between Kurt’s ass, but with Kurt against his chest, he can’t let go of Kurt long enough to do so.

It’s incredibly intimate this position, Kurt sprawled across his chest, bracketed between Blaine’s arms and legs. Blaine can feel every gasp that Kurt makes—every shudder that Kurt has vibrates across Blaine’s body, feeding his own heightening desire.

Blain pumps Kurt’s cock, hot and heavy in his hand, a living visualization of Kurt’s aroused state. He marvels at the way Kurt reacts to Blaine’s touch: his abdominal walls tightening, his shaft thickening, and his breathing becoming rapid and shallow, and his hands, gods, his hands! The way that Kurt restlessly brings them up to comb through Blaine’s curls, then drags them slowly across his nipples and belly before resting them on top of Blaine’s hand, directing Blaine in how to grip his cock—Blaine doesn’t think he could ever get enough of seeing Kurt in the throes of desire. Blaine twists his hand faster to heighten Kurt’s response, his other hand moving to rub against Kurt’s nipple. Kurt arches his head back on Blaine’s shoulder, allowing Blaine access to that spot on his neck again that keeps Kurt trembling in his arms.

“Oh,” Kurt breathes, his fingers buried again in Blaine’s curls as Blaine mouths again at his neck, “oh, honey, that’s… feels so good.”

Blaine drags his thumb across the tip of Kurt’s erection, coating it with the gathering liquid, as he alternates rubbing against the head with firm twists of his wrist around the shaft. Kurt’s orgasm is close, Blaine can tell, as his breathing is more erratic and his cock is so erect and thick and beautiful in Blaine’s fist and—

“Kurt!” A sharp knock sounds at the door, freezing them both in their compromising position. “It’s Mercedes! Do you have a moment to chat before we go out?”

“Can we… do that another time, Mercedes?” Kurt says, his voice high and breathy. “I’m still getting dressed.”

Blaine twists his hand again, slower but not letting Kurt cool down. He’s thankful that he took the time to lock the door, but with Kurt so close, he’s not letting anyone interrupt them now.

“Of course. I just wanted to talk about a possible collaboration between you, Blaine, and Marley and me.”

“That sounds great. I’d love to hear more about it. Later!”

“Speaking of Blaine, have you seen him? I haven’t had a chance to talk about my idea with him either.”

“I’ll let him know when I see him.” Kurt says and Blaine kisses his neck again. If Blaine hadn’t been watching the way Kurt is falling apart in his lap, his chest blotched pink with passion and his muscles quivering as he squirms and wriths against Blaine’s aching dick, Blaine never would have guessed from the way he answers Mercedes. Blaine forces back a groan.

“Sounds good, boo!” Mercedes answers and they listen to her walking down the hall.

“You are wicked, Mr. Anderson.” Kurt twists his head to kiss Blaine hard.

“You love it.”

“I do.” And Kurt’s voice is soft as he shifts and trails his finger down Blaine’s nose and across his lips. “I do love it.”

Blaine stills as Kurt brings their mouths together again, achingly sweet and tender. Blaine loses himself again in Kurt’s kiss, feeling precious and … loved.

“You need to get that hand back on my dick, Blaine,” Kurt huffs against his lips, “or I swear- Oh! Gods, yes, right there. Yes. Please.”

“I’ve got you, love.” Blaine murmurs, rubbing his fingers under the sensitive ridge before gripping Kurt’s shaft again. Kurt whimpers and twines his fingers through Blaine’s, wrapping them both tight around his cock. Blaine tweaks again on that pretty nipple and that seems to be the trigger.

Kurt shudders deliciously with his orgasm. Blaine can’t take his eyes off of Kurt—his eyes closed and his mouth slack with pleasure and a faint sheen of sweat across his collarbone.

Blaine caresses his hand over Kurt’s rib cage as Kurt comes down from his orgasm, keeping his other hand loose on Kurt’s dick, loving the way it softens in his hand. He presses another open kiss on Kurt’s neck.

“Mmm.” Kurt says affectionately, loose in Blaine’s arms as he pets at the curls on the back of Blaine’s neck. “That was delightful.”

Blaine smiles and kisses his temple. “It was.”

Kurt shifts and climbs off of Blaine. Blaine pouts as he shimmies his pants back up his hips, tucking his cock back in. “We have to go.” Kurt says.

“Oh. Okay.” Blaine tries to will his swollen dick down and sits up.

Kurt pushes him back down. “But—" he says, tossing a throw pillow off the sofa and placing it under his knees "—I think we’ll let them wait a minute more. Aren’t stars supposed to be fashionably late?” He shoves Blaine’s shirt up and his pants down with two quick moves that leaves Blaine dumbfounded and so very horny.

“Wait,” Blaine says and digs out his wallet from his back pocket that’s now at his knees. He pulls out a condom and hands it to Kurt, who smirks widely at him. “What? I was a boy scout.”

Kurt smiles mischievously as he rolls the condom down and follows it with his mouth. “And so very prepared,” he lifts up to say before going down again. Blaine throws his head back at the sensations as Kurt licks and sucks and worships his dick. God, Blaine loves this man.

It doesn’t take long, as his arousal has been stoked with Kurt’s reactions over the last several minutes and he burns with Kurt’s touch. Molten heat pools in his groin, everything tightening in preparation. “I’m—"

Kurt spreads his legs further, adding a hand to grip Blaine’s aching dick. His other hand plays with Blaine’s balls and the skin just below. In one smooth move, Kurt hollows his cheeks, sucking deeply, while he rubs purposefully over Blaine’s asshole and that does it. Blaine’s belly seizes as his orgasm crests, his cock pulsating in Kurt’s hot, perfect mouth, and for several seconds, Blaine’s not sure he is aware of anything except the points where Kurt is touching him.

Kurt slowly releases Blaine from his mouth and removes the condom. He strokes his fingers up and down Blaine’s dick as Blaine drifts back into awareness. Kurt places a tender kiss on the tip of his softening cock and another on his hip.

Blaine tugs on Kurt’s arms, desperately pulling him up and across his legs so he can kiss Kurt again. He breaks the kiss and runs his fingers across Kurt’s jaw and down his impossibly long arms, before entwining their fingers together. “I haven’t done that since I was a teenager.” He laughs, a little bashfully now that the fiery passion has banked a little. “That was—”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek and pushes himself up and off of Blaine. He holds his hand out. “We really do need to be going, though.”

“Okay.”

“Come home with me? After the party?” Kurt asks. “I mean. We could go for breakfast if you’d like. And I could show you my neighborhood.”

“I want everything with you.” Blaine says and kisses him again. “Everything.”

Their clean up is giddy as Kurt wipes off his chest and Blaine’s dick while Blaine pulls up his pants. “In you go, little Blainers. I’ll see you again soon.” Kurt pats the bulge affectionately before Blaine does up the zipper and Blaine can’t help laughing.

They keep stopping for more kisses as Blaine straightens his clothes and then seeks Kurt’s mouth again.

Kurt finally pushes him off. “You are too distracting. You and that perfect mouth.” He grins as he pulls up his shirt.

Blaine steps in close again. “Let me.” He says softly and buttons it up, brushing his fingers against Kurt’s collarbone, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. They lace their fingers together as they walk out of the dressing room.

They’re just to the stage door, the sound of a loud crowd seeping through the door. Blaine starts to push it open.

Kurt stops him. “You know, it was just about a year ago when I was standing here because The Boy from Oz was closing and I was so sad. I didn’t know what I was going to do.” He smiles at Blaine, that wonderful slow blossom of a smile that wrinkles the corner of his eyes. “A year ago, I didn’t know that I was going to get you.”

He squeezes Blaine’s hand and kisses him again, before pushing the door open and greeting their fans.

The End.

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Click for the story soundtrack made by Kay.

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Author end notes: And it's finished. Thank you so much for your likes, comments, and reblogs - I cherish each one of them and several of them have caused me to make a few edits and add details, so this story would not be what it is without them.

Special thanks again to my WIP Big Bang artist, kaydrew86, for the lovely art and soundtrack. Go listen now!

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