So I spent most the day writing this it's 1/6 parts, already finished so you can be sure of a complete fic. Basically Glasses!Chris ate my brain and I wanted a college fic with somewhat stuck up Kurt at an Ivy League school being chased by badboy!Blaine and... well here we are. If you want something done do it yourself. The college I used here is of course a real Ivy League school with an impressive liberal arts program which is half my reason for picking it and the other half is I know someone that goes there so I'm somewhat familiar with it.
4:46
Kurt knew from experience that watching the clock waiting for a shift to end only made it seem as if it was taking that much longer for time to pass, but he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the clock. He'd been counting the minutes till he was free to race over to the mailroom since waking that morning, just as he had the day before and the day before that.
4:47
Kurt sighed. Of course when he was waiting on the most exciting news of his life the earth would slow its spin and time would be thrown off into-
"Here comes your boyfriend, Kurt," Mercedes Jones said with a nudge to his ribcage as she moved past him to fill in another drink order. Kurt snapped out of his daze, his heart jumping somewhere in his throat as his eyes racked over the crowd of people moving around the little café.
Novack Café was tucked into a corner of the Baker-Berry Library; a popular spot for students, professors and visitors of the university to gather.
Dartmouth was Ivy League, exclusive and affluent, so Kurt had seen all manner of important visitors come through his workspace. At the mention of 'boyfriend' however Kurt was looking for one face, the face of Gavin Perelman Senior Business major and son of Ronald Perelman: multibillionaire, specializing in trade.
What he hadn't expected to see instead was the face of Blaine Anderson, senior government major and son of N.Y. Chief of Justice Paul Anderson.
That whole citing someone's stats thing? That was a learned practice. Whatever the world wants to harp on about equality and the importance of the 'everyday man' money talks and at the Ivy League level you need a ton of it before you can even get a word in. If you don't, like Kurt, then you had better have something else to barter with and that's where Kurt comes in. He's got talent, a full ride's worth of talent, and more ambition than half his classmates have in their little pinkies.
Most especially guys like Blaine: who undoubtedly got in on their parents money, whose only interests are fucking their way through the dorms and wasting up space that could have gone to some less fortunate and far more deserving individual.
"He's not my boyfriend" Kurt muttered, resuming his work and ignoring the man sauntering towards them.
"Oh but he wants to be," Mercedes chuckled. "He's been chasing you since homecoming Freshman year boo."
"Please, don't remind me" Kurt said with a sigh as Blaine halted in front of the counter and waited patiently, that all too familiar smirk of his in place. He was always so damn smug, like he knew he had everyone in his world eating out of the palm of his hand. It was the clothes, the old world manners. All of it just made anyone who met him to imagine he'd stepped right out of some black and white fantasy. Kurt had always been fond of the classics, especially old musicals, so he took that as a bit of a personal insult. He really wouldn't have put it past the universe to do that to him on purpose.
He had a hard enough time getting Gavin to ditch his all American ensemble of khakis and plain white tees for something a little more exciting, and the most annoying degenerate to ever get handed a free ride to this school would have to be completely gorgeous and dressed to kill.
Well, something from a fantasy or not, Kurt Hummel's name was never going to be added to Blaine's ever growing list of conquests. It had been clear to Kurt after their first meeting that Blaine knew exactly how charming he was and expected everyone to bow to that ridiculously contrived 'Cary Grant 2.0' routine. It was about time he had someone disappoint him.
"What do you want?" Kurt finished stocking the counter and turned to ask the slightly shorter man. He kept his voice level, Blaine was a customer after all, but he knew Blaine would pick up on the bite in his tone just the same.
"Straight to the dangerous questions today I see," Blaine replied with a daring smile and Kurt fought not to blush at the curious gazes of two freshman girls behind Blaine who weren't even pretending not to eavesdrop. Despite being openly gay it never stopped girls from chasing after Blaine- nor bafflingly from Blaine taking girls out on dates, but then again Blaine was a bit of a manslut so maybe not so baffling- not that Kurt couldn't see they did.
Kurt was positively in lust with his v-neck sweater, an Ian Velardi no less, and the dark blue of it made the different shades of amber in his eyes all the more prominent. Kurt especially liked the red plaid tie and matching scarf he'd matched with it. Bastard knew how to wear his clothes.
"It's only dangerous if you don't give me your order in the next five seconds," Kurt snarked back drumming his fingers on the counter top. "Order or go away Anderson."
"He's touchy today," Blaine directed his comment towards Mercedes who was on second register.
"He's still waiting on his letter," that traitor and former best friend of his responded. "Kurt's applying with Cirque du soleil." Blaine was the last person Kurt wanted knowing intimate details about his life, especially details that were still more dreams than realities and caused his heart to flutter painfully in his chest with hope whenever he thought about them.
He flushed as Blaine tilted his head and considered him thoughtfully. He shifted nervously underneath his unreadable gaze.
"If you'd have told me you were a contortionist Hummel, I'd have put us both out of our misery a long time ago. I'll drop down on a knee this instant and propose if that's what you want."
"No. I don't." Kurt responded with a snap, tossing another hot glare at Mercedes who was giggling loudly. "Thank you for the truly tempting offer but all I want from you Anderson is your order, either that or to vacate my line; preferably the latter."
"You don't know my order by now?" Blaine asked, having the gall to genuinely look wounded. Kurt rolled his eyes to the ceiling and hated himself as he rang up a medium black drip. Blaine's kicked puppy expression evaporated into an annoyingly bright grin.
"Anything else?" Kurt asked and Blaine's smile widened.
"Yes. I want to know, does Mr. Wall Street know you're planning to run off and join the circus?"
"Anything that doesn't have to do with something not any of your damn business?"
"Sure but what fun are those?"
"That will be a dollar and forty nine cents then."
"Not even a little smile for me today. Usually I can get just a hint of one," Blaine remarked as he handed over a couple of bills. Kurt took them without comment, his only interest getting Blaine served and out of his way as quickly as possible.
"Usually he's not this nervous" Mercedes said, reaching over to give his back a comforting pat. "At exactly five he's going to get off shift and go tearing over to the-"
"If you let him know where I'm headed after this I will burn those Prada boots you let me borrow," Kurt interrupted her before she could give Blaine his entire evening itinerary, Jesus. He handed Blaine back his change and resolutely ignored the heat of his fingers as they brushed.
"Mailroom?" Blaine guessed with mirth dancing in his eyes. At Kurt's groan he chuckled and tossed the change into the tip cup. "She already said you were waiting on a letter. I have brilliant powers of deduction."
"Can you deduce how much I really wish you'd leave me alone?" Kurt quipped as he filled a medium cup with steaming hot coffee.
"Have I told you how amazing you look in your glasses? " Blaine asked, completely ignoring Kurt's jibe. Kurt didn't flush, he'd trained himself to stop doing that every time Blaine got it in his head to seduce him with empty compliments (which was admittedly quite often).
"Only every time he wears them," Mercedes quipped moving to prepare a sandwich for a guy Kurt recognized from his English elective.
"You should throw out your contacts. Glasses suit you."
"Medium drip for you, Sir" Kurt ignored Blaine's comment and fixed him with the most pained smile he'd had to pull in a while. "Have a nice day and-" Kurt's eyes flicked to the clock. 5:00. His eyes immediately flicked to the door where sure enough his replacement Karen was waltzing in. "I'm out of here Mercedes. See you in Glee."
# # # # # # # # # # # # #
The Hopkins Center for the arts (fondly called the Hop by locals) was always full and thriving on any given day of the week. Not only was it the center of the hive for Dartmouth's arts majors it was the pulse point of the local community, offering almost as many programs for locals as it offered for its students. It was a campus within a campus, and the place where Kurt- double major music and dance- spent the majority of his time.
It was also home to several auditoriums, studios, a museum, a café and the campus mailroom. The Hop was never not busy, and this particular Thursday evening was no different. It being the end of the week and close to winter finals the mailroom was crowded, noisy and Kurt had to fight his way to his CPO box. He accidently trod all over the feet of a petite girl who squealed indignantly and turned with clear intention to read him the riot act, until she recognized him.
"Kurt!" Rachel Berry (music major, theater and dance minors) of the New Hampshire Berry's- the same Berry's that made up half the name of the Baker-Berry library- exclaimed excitedly as she grabbed onto his arm. "I thought I'd see you in here. Have you heard yet?"
The tiny brunette was practically bouncing on her feet as Kurt fought the last few feet to his box and she followed closely behind, keeping a necessary grip on his arm.
"Obviously not-ouch sorry- It didn't come yesterday so I'm hoping…." Kurt trailed off as he fished for his box key.
"They have to accept you, Kurt. They'd be crazy not to." Rachel prattled on beside him. Squeezing his arm as if she intended to knead assurance into his flesh. "Remember when my dads took us to see Zumanity-"
"Honestly Rachel I've been trying to forget."
"- and my papa said that he thought you were even better dancer than the guy with the floppy hair you kept complaining about?" Rachel went on as if she hadn't even heard him. Getting to see Cirque perform, with premium seats no less, for Rachel's birthday celebration in Vegas had been undeniably a dream come true, but watching a musical acrobatic experience dedicated to the exploration of human desire with somebody's parents? Yeah there had been some awkward moments.
And some truly splendid, because Kurt couldn't help but flush with pride remembering Leroy Berry leaning over to whisper that he'd thought's Kurt's spring recital that year had been equally spectacular. He'd jokingly suggested that Kurt should get up on stage and show him a thing or two, and Kurt had turned his gaze back to the flowing fabrics and tangling limbs swaying on stage and thought, 'one day that will be me'.
Kurt opened his box and withdrew a thin stack of envelopes quickly thumbing through them. His hands shook as he sorted through the mail. He wanted this so badly, he really did. He could sing, he could dance, and he might not be the most skilled acrobat but he'd been training with his aunt since he was nine and was an accomplished enough gymnast to impress his friends. Had his audition tape been enough to impress Cirque? Who knew?
He'd tried to showcase a bit of all his talents while focusing on his strength, singing with a complicated routine set to Barbara Streisand's Greatest Star, but the song admittedly wasn't their usual kind of fair and he hadn't been able to be nearly as acrobatic as he could be since he'd chosen to do the singing live rather than record first.
"Stop freaking out," Rachel scolded, reading his mind. "While you don't have my impressive range and technical perfection you are the only man I know, Kurt Hummel, who can sing flawlessly while hanging upside down and swinging yourself around some scaffolding. You're a double threat. They'd be crazy not to-"
"Oh my god it came!"
"It came!" Rachel grabbed his arm again as they both jumped with excitement, Kurt struggling to breath and not drop the letter in his hands.
"I can't do it. You do it." He thrust the letter towards her and Rachel franticly shook her head and pushed it right back. "What if it's a no? What if they're like sorry, but we're looking for extraordinary performers not-"
"Kurt you are an extraordinary performer" Rachel insisted. "Now stop this nonsense and open that letter so I can congratulate you."
Kurt took a deep breath and plucking up his courage tore open the envelope. It was best just to do it like a bandaide he decided. Tear it off and the pain of rejection would fade faster.
Dear Mr. Hummel,
We're pleased to inform you that we received your application materials and are were very impressed with your credentials. We would like you to schedule an audition at our upcoming casting call in N.Y. York .You'll find enclosed our call calendar if another venue would be more convenient to you. Attached to this letter are further instructions for scheduling auditions. Also, we'd like to congratulate you on your excellent pre audition. We'd be very interested in sending one of our talent scouts to observe you in person and write a review for our casting agents. If you are willing, please return a performance schedule to us in the envelope provided….
Kurt didn't read any further. He'd stopped breathing, and Rachel was hugging him too hard for him to get any more words out anyway.
# # # # # # # # # # #
"So I was thinking, we should increase the publicity of the event. We need this to be big Blaine and I feel like presently..."
Well, presently Blaine was paying about as much attention to Wes as someone who was gazing out fixedly over the lawn with a scowl could possibly be. Wes Montgomery took his duties as president of the senior class seriously and usually so did Blaine. Blaine was his vice president, his wingman, and he more than anyone knew that their job went beyond, let's get new vending machines. This was more than an elective, more than credits to put on a future resume, it was their resume. The important people who would be looking into their achievements would be looking for substance, and the important people who worked at this school and dined with all those other important people would weigh in.
Wes and Blaine came from similar backgrounds. Wes the son of a congressman and wealthy business man, Blaine the son of a well-known Supreme Court Judge, both of them expected to go above and beyond their fathers achievements and both their families having sacrificed much to pave the way for them. There had to be a payoff in the end. Wes had always known he could have as much fun as he wanted, get a little wild, make a few stupid mistakes, and they'd all be smoothed over and ignored as long as he did his job and became a senator or a governor or something else important.
Wes had never really felt much of a need to walk on the wild side and push the boundaries, but Blaine seemed to thrive on it. He and Wes had grown up together: attended the same prep schools and applied to the same colleges, stayed up late at night coming up with the same ten year plan.
Their parents were close and approved of the friendship, and it was about the one thing that Blaine knew his parents approved of that he didn't constantly try to get rid of; which Wes was thankful for. He'd been through all of Blaine's phases-the weird clothes, the afro, the motorcycle, boxing- and he weathered them much the same way Blaine's parent's did (if not with more sympathy).
Like Wes, Blaine, for all his rebellion, understood the rules. At the end of the day he had to straighten his tie, slick back his hair, and get the job done. When you didn't pay up your debts, that's when life became hell. That's when allowances were cut off and names barred from the dinner table. So here they were, their senior year of college and exactly the polished and accomplished young men they'd been shaped to be since they were a thought in their parent's minds.
Wes the gentleman and scholar that authority figures trusted and people simply expected to go above and beyond his duties; and Blaine, the one who won people's hearts with his smile and the passion so clearly brimming to boil over. He was just the kind of man people loved to love because he dared to be bad. He knew how to bend just far enough without actually breaking anything.
No Blaine would never actually break himself or all their future plans. He knew what the rules were.
Wes' eyes followed Blaine's gaze and stuck on a familiar figure. Kurt Hummel: son of nobody worth mentioning, grandson of Norman Walton who'd disowned his daughter for her marriage to the aforementioned second party in those not worth mentioning. Nephew as well as legal ward of Kerri Walton (second to be disinherited in her family, a celebrated gymnast, but no real fortune or influence to her name). He knew Kurt was a double major (his voice and his skill as a dancer having earned him his place here amongst the rest of the world's up and coming), and boyfriend of Gavin Perelman heir to billions.
Dartmouth was a large school, but his father had drilled in him the importance of knowing all the key players in 'the game' and Kurt might come from nothing but he certainly wasn't content to stay there with it. He and his best friend Rachel Berry were the darlings of the music department, their names practically stamped into event programs over at the Hop. They were popular in their department, among their peers (if only because one knew to keep the competition close) and they were two of the premier soloists in glee club and dance ensemble respectively.
Kurt was worth giving a nod to, worth keeping an eye on, because lord knew important people liked entertainment and pretty things, and Kurt effortlessly provided both. For a number puncher like Gavin, it was all well and good to have a pretty little thing like Kurt on his arm with no family and no prospects beyond himself, but for men like him and Blaine?
No. It was simply against the rules. There were a lot of things that were against the rules when you were destined for the oval office.
And that of course was exactly why Blaine had been obsessed with Kurt for going on three years now, because there was nothing that Blaine loved to do more than exactly what he shouldn't. Blaine's parents would not approve and that made the other man all the shinier in Blaine's eyes. Wes had seen it a million times before, but this particular obsession had been dragging on for an increasingly worrying amount of time.
Blaine was distracted; staring at Hummel across the lawn walking with Gavin like he was some sort of mythical siren. He'd likely like nothing better than to whisk him out of Perelman's clutches.
"Blaine, are you ignoring me?"
Blaine started, tearing his eyes away from Kurt and Gavin. He smiled guiltily at his friend and said, "no, of course not. You were saying?"
"Well, since you really don't care about what I was saying, why not talk about what's on your mind?"
"I've a lot on my mind right now, Wes."
"Is he tall, blue eyes?" Wes prompted and Blaine grinned, propping his chin in one hand.
"Legs that go on for days, arms that make me sweat and an ass that should come with a warning," he added with a bit of a lascivious grin and Wes chuckled.
"How long have you been trying to get Hummel to fuck you now? Since the beginning of time or-"
"Since never," Blaine interjected and at Wes' incredulous scoff he added, "the object Wesley is to date him. Not to fuck him."
"Aren't they the same thing with you?"
"Usually"
"Ah but this time it's not simply enough to fuck him, you have to make an example of him. I get it" Wes nodded sagely picking up the pen laying across his notebook and writing himself a note to meet with David about the AIDS awareness benefit later. "Your dad can't be appropriately pissed off unless you're dating the pretty singer and it looks like you actually give a shit."
"What makes you think I don't give a shit?"
"Blaine, when have you ever given a shit?"
"I've never heard any complaints. I'm never anything but the perfect gentlemen-"
"Until you've got some silly twink or closeted jock with his pants around his ankles begging for it harder and waking up the whole household."
"I always tell them to be quiet. Some of them think just because it's a house, you know, that sound won't carry." Blaine mused to himself playing with a curl that was escaping its confines and falling across his brow.
"Blaine, you're not a bad person, not a bad date from what I hear and I've never heard anything but glowing reports from anyone whose pants you've managed to get in to- and somehow you have the unique ability to remain friends with all these people when the rest of us would end up in a John Tucker Must Die remake," Wes quipped setting down his pen. "But let's be honest. It's never about them. Not really, so no, you don't actually ever give a shit."
"You have a point, I'll admit" Blaine relented without any anger. His eyes went back to Gavin and Kurt who were still standing a ways off but Kurt now had his arms around the taller man's neck and was leaning up and close to whisper something. "But this is different. Kurt's different."
That gave Wes pause. He looked at Blaine closely, looking for some hint of what was going on up there in his brain but all he saw was focus and intensity as the other man continued to watch Kurt and that… well that wasn't exactly new.
"How?" He asked warily and Blaine turned back to grin at him.
"I don't know yet. But I've always know it will be a lot of fun figuring it out."
TBC