Title: Of Homophobes and Alexander McQueen.
Pairings: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel (Klaine) - Established Relationship.
Warnings: Non-graphic horror and slash - M/M (boy/boy). Don't like, don't read.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline.
Enjoy!
Blaine frowned as he walked through the front door, kicking off his shoes. Something didn't feel right.
As he headed towards the kitchen, he could smell the sweet, coppery tang of Kurt's day's work. He entered the kitchen, went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He opened it, sipped a few mouthfuls, put it back and left, completely ignoring the man laid out on the table. Movement above his head alerted him to his husband's presence, so he quickly changed direction from his course to the living room and headed up the stairs.
He entered the bedroom to find Kurt curled up on the bed, sniffling.
"Baby, what's wrong?" Blaine asked, approaching the young man quickly, concern etched over his features.
Kurt didn't make a sound, but instead wordlessly pointed to a jacket hung up on the wardrobe.
Upon closer inspection, it wasn't just any jacket. It was Kurt's Alexander McQueen jacket. His favourite. And right on the left lapel was a mark. Spit.
Blaine turned back to Kurt, asking "Who?" with his eyebrows.
Kurt pointed again, this time at the floor.
"Ah." Work. "Why'd they do that?"
Kurt sniffed again, but this time answered. "Homophobe. He was a bastard in the mall. I was looking at the picture of us on my phone, you know the one." Blaine did. It was cheesy and romantic and Blaine can still remember pressing his lips to Kurt's cheek on the day he took it.
"The wanker looked over my shoulder and said "faggots". So I turned around to give him a piece of my mind and he spat on me! Now it's ruined!" He waved an arm in the direction of the jacket. The indignation in Kurt's voice (while well placed and deserved) made Blaine want to chuckle. He sat beside Kurt on the bed and scooped him up, cuddling him close, as if trying to cuddle away the ignorance of the rest of the world.
"So, you brought him back home...?" Blaine prompted.
Kurt nodded into Blaine's shoulder and took a deep breath.
"Is he still...?"
"Alive?"
Blaine nodded. He hadn't bothered to check, after all.
"Yes," said Kurt, somewhat muffled by Blaine's collarbone.
"Good." Blaine's eyes hardened and narrowed, and Blaine quirked an eyebrow at Kurt playfully as he raised his head. "That means I can... reprimand him as well."
Kurt giggled, misery temporarily forgotten, his own eyes darkening with two different types of lust; blood and sexual. Blaine could barely tell the two apart. It didn't matter. He felt the same.
"Can I watch?"
"Of course," Blaine replied, pulling up his husband and holding his hand, grinning.
Kurt stopped for a brief second to take the jacket off the hanger, and Blaine looked at him, questioningly.
"While he may have ruined it, this jacket is still Alexander McQueen," Kurt explained. "I'd be very happy if it were the last thing I'd ever see. And if I know you, Blaine Anderson, by the time you're done with him, he will be, too."
He winked at Blaine, took his hand, and led him downstairs.
Blaine smiled as he walked through the kitchen door, rolling up his sleeves. The man pleaded at him with terrified, begging-for-mercy eyes, unable to speak through the now-red gag. He smirked, shook his head, and called Kurt over. Everything felt right.
So, what do you think? Reviews are welcome! Flames are not.