[A/N} This is a collab between adoregube & soratanaka here at FFN. It's focusing on Klaine and Quick with small mentions of Brittana. The rest of the ships are also mostly canon.
In this fic, Kurt and Blaine never met during High School, but they have met. The same goes for Quinn and Puck. Blaine and Puck are best friends, and Kurt and Quinn are also best friends. Blaine is a bit like Puck, that kind of badboy, but extremely random and adorkable. Quinn is a bit random, but just think that she's herself for once. Beth never happened, and New Directions and The Warblers never competed against each other.
Also, please note we're not native English speakers, and soratanaka tries to keep dialogues at American, but she knows she fails big time.
{Walk That Mile}
"So we're bound to linger on
We drink the fatal drop"
– Kleerup ft. Lykke Li, Until We Bleed
Kurt was lying on the bed, lazily reading Jane Eyre for the second time; after all, he should welcome the rare moments without his boyfriend Jack breathing down his neck every other minute. He didn't hate Jack per se, but he couldn't deny that the elder had become rather obsessive about Kurt's whereabouts; something that annoyed Kurt because honestly, he was 24 years old. He could take care of himself; he didn't need to be babysat.
His eyes were starting to droop slightly, but he was jerked back to reality as the ever so familiar voice sung from the bathroom.
"Sweet dreams are made of this," the voice sang happily, and Kurt could practically hear the smile on the lips. "Who am I to disagree? Travel the world and the seven seas; everybody's looking for something!"
"Q; please lower your voice before I am forced to throw something at your head, which would probably be this book!" Kurt called over his shoulder, forcing himself to concentrate on the words.
The bathroom door opened and out came Quinn, dancing silly steps into Kurt's room.
"Some of them want to use you!"
"Quinn—," Kurt began warningly, his eyes darting towards the blonde woman.
"Some of them want to get used by you!"
"Do you want to get a book in your head?" Kurt raised a brow questioningly.
"Some of them want to abuse you!" She raised her voice, pointedly provoking Kurt with a silly smile.
"You make me want to abuse you right now, to be honest," Kurt drawled, closing the book with a slam. "One more tone, and your head will be introduced to Jane Eyre."
"Aw, come on, Kurtsie, we both know you don't mean that," Quinn said, moving towards the wardrobe. "Some of them want to be abused!"
Thunk!
"Ouch!" Quinn's hand grabbed the now sore spot on her neck and she turned around to glare at her flatmate. "Kurt! What was that for?"
"I warned you," Kurt snorted, pushing himself up to sitting position. "It's not my fault you don't know what's better for you."
"Well, at least I'm living my life instead of staying in here like a self-convicted prisoner," Quinn remarked, turning back to her wardrobe. "Or somewhere else, locked up by an overprotective boyfriend."
Kurt sighed exasperated. "Why won't you just try to get along with him at least?"
"You can't say I never tried," she replied. "I was being polite, and he was being an ass."
"Quinn!"
"Stating the truth is all!"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he crossed his legs and looked at Quinn as she tried to find an outfit.
"So what are you up to?" He asked, mildly curious.
"Out with Santana and Britt." She paused for a moment as though she considered something, and added: "You should come with us."
"No," came the immediate response. "I don't do 'outs'. They usually end with 'drunk' and 'throwing ups'," he drawled.
"No, seriously," Quinn said and turned around. "You're always busy with school or with a musical or with Jack," she grimaced at the name, "or you're just withering away inside here doing nothing productive. At least you should go out from time to time; meeting the world and its surprises!"
"I said no," Kurt argued. "I've got better stuff to do."
"Like what?"
"Like personal stuff."
"Like what?"
"Like you know what."
"Masturbation?" she asked while she mimicked being a boy doing the act.
"Quinn!" Kurt exclaimed scandalised.
"Gay porn?"
"What!"
"Sweet dreams about Johnny Depp?" Quinn's eyebrow raised questioningly.
"Stop it!"
"Or is there something else?" Quinn smirked. "Don't think I don't know you secretly watch the re-run of Queer As Folk."
Kurt's eyes actually widened slightly as his cheeks tinged scarlet red.
"I do not!" Kurt denied helplessly, crossing his arms. "It just so happens it's the only thing on TV when I actually get the remote control."
"But seriously, you should come out and experience instead of wanking off to some TV series."
"I've got a boyfriend, Quinn. It'd be most inappropriate for me to experience with other people."
"Then just come with us anyway and drink soda," Quinn shrugged and took out a dress. "This good, you think?"
Kurt glared at her. "You'd need the black heels for that dress," he snarled. "The very same heels that you so conveniently forgot at Jack's so that you could conveniently surprise visit and threaten him."
"You've got no proof," Quinn sang merrily, almost sounding like Sue Sylvester. She picked out a white dress instead. "This good with the red heels?"
"Sure, why not?" Kurt replied, still annoyed by her persistence. "And no, I won't go with you even if my life depended on it."
"And if my life depended on it?"
"It doesn't."
"Jack's?"
"Doesn't."
"Your mum's?"
"She's dead, Q," Kurt stared at her blankly.
"Exactly."
"What?"
"You're coming with me, even if I'd have to drag you to Hell and back. You need to get out, loosen up a bit, alright?"
"I don't do 'loosen up'," Kurt reminded her childishly. "I prefer staying at home in solitude."
"You sound like a serial killer or something," Quinn chuckled but then turned serious. "But Kurt, I'm serious here. I want to have you with me sometimes. It's been ages since last time—"
"And look how well it went," Kurt said sarcastically, remembering getting covered with Quinn's dinner after it had been swallowed. "I don't want that to happen again. I wore Calvin that day."
"I don't remember that ever happened," Quinn stated.
"I wonder why."
Quinn moved towards Kurt and let herself fall onto her knees. "But please come with me, Kitty Kurt," she begged and Kurt could literally see her face transforming to a puppy's.
"No," Kurt remained stubborn. "And seriously, 'Kitty Kurt'?"
"Please," Quinn continued, ignoring Kurt's last remark. "I'll never touch your stuff without asking first!"
Kurt snorted. "Like that'd ever happen."
"I'd be happy?" Quinn tried another tactic. "And I'll do my best to be nicer to Jack."
"Which, if I may remind you, you should anyway," Kurt pointed out.
"Aw, come on, Kurt!" She exclaimed and flung herself against him and let them fall on the bed with a muffled thump. "I'll tickle you if you don't!"
Kurt's eyes widened. "You wouldn't—"
"Watch me!" Quinn's hands moved towards his torso – very sensitive torso – and Kurt could already feel the hands even if they were inches away.
"Nonononono!" Kurt pleaded, trying to squirm away from her touch. "I'll go with you, I'll go with you, alright! Anything but this!"
She stopped her intentions and smirked, clearly satisfied with her achievements. "That's my Kurt." Patting his forehead as though he was a dog, she rose from the bed and went over to his wardrobe. "Whatcha gonna wear, Kitty?"
{Walk That Mile}
Kurt seriously regretted every agreeing to this. Whilst Quinn and the others were having the time of their lives, Kurt had to deal with a clingy 50 year old man who was convinced Kurt was his dead wife.
"Christine, I've missed you so much," the drunk slurred for the fifteenth time. "You have no idea how tough it is without you."
Kurt sighed exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sir, for the last time; I'm not your wife. I'm sorry for your lost, but—"
"What am I supposed to do without you?" The man broke down in tears, grabbing his beer as though his life depended on it – which it probably did, Kurt mused.
Kurt turned to Quinn. "Q, I'm heading over to the drinks, OK?"
Quinn, oblivious to his unwanted attention, smiled brightly. "OK! Go get drunk and loosen up a bit!"
Kurt sighed again, but darted towards the drinks. He had no intention of getting drunk, but he needed at least something to escape that confused man.
Sometimes he wondered why people always assumed he was a woman. On phone, he could understand. He was, after all, very used to it. But in person, Kurt didn't think he looked like a girl.
Perhaps it had been the woman looking like a man, he mused as he caught the bartender's attention.
"A tequila shot," Kurt said before jumping in surprise.
"Well, well, well," a voice came from his left, "if it isn't Mr Kurt Hummel."
The voice was familiar, but Kurt wasn't really sure whom it belonged to. Turning, he wished he had stayed home with Jane Eyre and her poor life.
"By the way, Kurt," Quinn's voice caught their attention as she moved towards them, "can you get me a beer? Oh—who's this, Kurt?" She stressed his name as she leered at his new-found companion. "Someone special?"
"Oh!" Kurt's eyes widened as he froze. "No, no, it's just an old acquaintance, is all," he smoothed out the uncomfortable situation.
"For me it wasn't," Blaine Anderson smirked, his finger tracing his jaw suggestively. "For me, you were more than just an acquaintance. And I'd like to pinpoint how much we actually got along, if you get my meaning." He winked.
Winked.
"Kurt?" Quinn turned to the blushing young man.
"This is just—" Kurt began.
"Blaine Anderson," Blaine interrupted, the smirk still tugging at his lips.
"—a cocky bastard," Kurt muttered, accepting his drink from the bartender. He asked for a beer for Quinn, before coming back to the awkward moment 2.0.
"So, Kurt," Quinn said pointedly, raising her eyebrow. "What have you so conveniently forgotten to tell me?"
"It's nothing," Kurt sniffed.
"Haven't you told?" Blaine gasped scandalised. "I thought I meant more to you than that."
"Kitty Kurtsie," Quinn hissed, and Kurt could swear she'd grown a pair of horns. "What is that you haven't told me?"
"It's no—"
"Well, I'd like to break the news," Blaine interrupted.
"Don't—," Kurt began warningly.
"Do tell," Quinn encouraged him happily.
"We fucked," Blaine proclaimed, raising his glass in the air. "Or rather, I fucked him. Hard."
"Anderson!"
"Oh, on last name basis, are we?" Blaine raised a brow. "Not what I'd expected after having you moaning my name."
Quinn chuckled and grabbed Kurt's arm. Whispering something in his ear, he blushed furiously red.
"Quinn! I've got a boyfriend! I don't do cheating."
"Well, he's hot," Quinn muttered.
"Why, thank you," Blaine said, drinking the compliment. "But seriously, Kitty Kurtsie, a boyfriend? Ickle Kurtsie finally got settled down? And not on my cock. I'm impressed."
"I've had guys before you!" Kurt exclaimed indignantly. "I'm not some kind of lay-around."
"Sure, why not," Blaine shrugged. "But don't deny you miss it," he continued, moving his hips suggestively.
"I think I'll just go back to Santana or something," Quinn informed them, looking at Kurt pointedly as though to say 'dump Jack, or else', before leaving with her beer.
There was an awkward silence hanging between them, before Blaine broke it.
"You still spread your legs?"
"Anderson," Kurt sighed. "I've got a boyfriend."
"So you've said. Does it matter?" Blaine winked.
"Yes?"
"Don't tell me you've up and gone all relationship guy, Kurt," Blaine whined. "So what's his name?"
"Jack."
"Jackass?"
"Sorry?"
"His name. Jackass? Blaine smirked and finished his drink.
"His name's Jack, Anderson. Don't be stupid."
"Stupid for you!" Blaine stopped for a moment as Disco Pogo was being played. "Wanna dance?"
"I've got a boyfriend," Kurt said for the third time. "I don't dance with other guys."
"What? He'd get jealous or what? Come on, Kurt! It's just a dance, is all," Blaine whined and dragged Kurt off the chair, ignoring the fact he hadn't finished his drink.
"No! Blaine, I don't think this is a very wise idea—"
"Scared?" Blaine's eyes had softened a bit.
"No! I don't want Jack to accidently walk in here and see us dancing."
"Come on, you're out on a club; dancing doesn't always mean something," Blaine argued and dragged Kurt out on the dance floor. "Do your best!"
With that, Blaine started dancing – or whatever It was called when a person flung his body at different directions, Kurt added mentally.
"I don't dance," Kurt deadpanned, standing awkwardly on the dance floor. "Especially with other guys when I'm in a relationship."
"Just—do the shake," Blaine shouted over the music.
"The—the what?" Kurt asked, not sure he wanted to know what the shake meant.
"You know, the last time we met?" Kurt cringed. "When you danced. You did this shake-thingy." Blaine mimicked Kurt's previous dance moves, and Kurt blushed red.
"I did that?" Kurt asked. "And I thought I wasn't that very stereotype gay kind of guy."
"Come on! You looked hot, alright?" Blaine's face broke into a smile. "Ready? Loosen up and have fun for a while, will you? Last time you were fun to hang out with. Dunno what's happened, but you've seriously got tightened to the leash."
"But I've got a boy—"
"A boyfriend, I know," Blaine said, shrugging it off as though Kurt had said the weather was nice. "That doesn't mean you can't have fun, does it?"
What the hell, Kurt thought. Might as well enjoy myself for once.
He tried to mimic Blaine's moves, feeling his heart racing because he had no idea a person could move his body like that. And he would lie if he said that Blaine wasn't hot.
Because he was; very much so. And Kurt didn't like it, at all.
The song changed to a slower one, and Kurt stiffened as Blaine flung his arms over his shoulder. Feeling Blaine's breath of alcohol and smokes, Kurt tried to move his face the other way – and sweet Gaga, please don't say that's an erection against his thigh. Looking down, Kurt found that Blaine had pressed his pelvis against Kurt and that the other had a very obvious hard-on.
Kurt closed his eyes. Sweet Lord.
"You said my name," Blaine mumbled against his neck.
"I did many times," Kurt said, trying to squirm away from Blaine's body.
"Not my last name, stupid. I meant you said 'Blaine'. I like that."
Kurt stopped momentarily. He hadn't realised it had slipped. Stepping away, he tried to push Blaine away from him.
"Look, Blaine, I—I can't—God," Kurt breathed when Blaine sucked on a very sensitive spot on his neck. "No—Blaine, stop—"
"Come on, gorgeous," Blaine whined, his hands travelling south on Kurt's body. "It'll be like last time – better even."
I've got a boyfriend, I've got a boyfriend, I've got a boyfriend, Kurt chanted.
"I—No—" Kurt muttered, grasping Blaine's hands and dropped them away from his body. "I don't want it to be like last time. Remember? You left me," he reminded the drunken young man who tried to push himself against Kurt again, "and it wasn't a very nice way to leave either."
"Well, I'm sorry, if that's what you want me to say," Blaine slurred, grasping Kurt's button-up shirt. "Too many buttons," he muttered and tried to unbutton them.
"Blaine—no—stop it—I don't—Goddammit, Blaine!" Kurt raised his voice, pushing Blaine off him. "I'm serious, OK? I—I think it's better if I leave now."
He didn't wait for a response and walked out the club, trying to catch a cab. He texted Quinn about his whereabouts, that he was going home and that he hoped that the girls were enjoying themselves.
When Kurt came home, he fell asleep before his head hit the pillows. He hadn't even realised that he had fallen asleep, but when his phone was ringing, the time was 10 o'clock in the morning.
Groaning, Kurt answered the phone. "Yeah?"
"Good morning, sunshine!" A cheery voice answered. "You up for coffee today?"
Kurt groaned again, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in his bed. "I—coffee? When?"
"Yeah! Like, now?" Jack sounded too enthusiastic for Kurt to say no.
The fashionable young man sighed and rolled his legs off the bed. "Sure. I just need a moment to fix myself," he said as he noticed he hadn't even changed clothes before falling asleep. "Can you pick me up in 45 minutes or so?"
"Sounds great! I'll see you then," Jack agreed.
"See you then," Kurt repeated. "Love you."
"Love you too," Jack said and ended the call.
When Jack had picked him up and arrived at the local coffee shop, Kurt had finally started to wake up a bit. He stretched his arms above his head after he had gotten out of the car, yawning heavily before inhaling the morning breeze.
"So it's on me today," his boyfriend said as they walked through the doors. "You want the usual?"
"Of course," Kurt replied with a smile. "Always the usual."
It was apparently too early for people to grab a coffee, as there was almost no queue. When they finally reached the front line, the man behind the disk turned around with a goofy smile.
"So what can I get—," the man stopped and Kurt stared.
Blaine Anderson.
Well, fuck.
[A/N} So that's it. We'd be extremely happy to read your thoughts about this. Would you want something specific to happen, perhaps? Quirky guesses? Also, updates may be slightly irregular, as we write this for fun, not for obligation.