Title: Mourir pour la danse
Author: L3af Con3yb3ar
Rating: M
Warnings: AU, OOC, Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con, Crude Language, Cross-dressing, Graphic Violence, Character Deaths
Characters: Kurt Hummel, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Jesse St. James, Mike Chang, and others
Disclaimer: I do not own Black Swan, Glee, Swan Lake, or anything affiliated.
Part One
Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young, lonely boy would spend his nights in the forest, dancing. As he danced in the clearing on one particular night, when the full moon was out, illuminating the dark blue lake, he noticed he was being watched by a handsome, older knight: Baron von Rothbart.
Frightened, he attempted to run away from the strange man but the knight warmly greeted the boy, already smitten with him. He offered his hand and the two danced for hours.
The naïve boy already found himself falling for the knight.
As the night progressed, Rothbart lured the young man into a cave, before suddenly morphing into a frightful creature: half-man and half-vulture. This was no knight. This was a sorcerer.
Rothbart cast a spell on the boy, turning him into a beautiful white swan, a symbol of beauty and purity. The boy would remain his tortured captive for eternity, suffering as a beautiful white swan by day… but at night, turn back into a boy…
Blue eyes snapped open and the curtains in front of the window, blocking the sun, made a line of light on the form in the queen-sized bed. The clock on the nightstand read 6:59.
Kurt Hummel took in his familiar surroundings, moving a pale hand to his face to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He had soft, handsome, innocent features, longing for approval…behind that: insecurity.
Various stuffed animals sat in the corner of the room, looking back at him. His room looked like it belonged to an 8-year-old girl, lots of pink and certainly not very normal for an adult male. He lay perfectly still until…
Beep, beep, beep…
He moved his hand over to the alarm clock, which read 7:00, and tapped the top of it. He turned to the other side of the bed where the covers were pushed back. Sadly shaking his head, Kurt swung his legs off of the mattress, his feet hovering over the hardwood floor for a moment before sliding into a pair of house slippers and moving into the adjoining bathroom.
The lithe dancer had been a part of the New York City ballet company for four years after moving to the city from Lima, Ohio, with his much older step-brother and roommate, Finn Hudson.
In their living room, which consisted only of a couch in the corner, a full-length mirror, a ballet barre mounted on a wall, which he and his brother had installed together, a hardwood floor and a few homely décor, the dancer sat stretched out on the floor. Despite his beauty, his feet were atrocious—full of blisters and sores—albeit common for a ballet dancer.
He gracefully stretched his arms above his head in a rhythmic motion, contracting his legs and feet in a precise movement. He was focused with an intense gaze, striving to perfect it.
Suddenly self-conscious, he stopped his dancing and turned to the archway where Finn watched him with a cold expression. The other man wordlessly tore his tense eyes away from blue ones and walked down the hallway.
With a huff and an uneasy pain in his chest, Kurt dropped onto his bottom and removed the ballet shoes from his feet. He was one of the few males in the company who danced en pointe.
"I had the craziest dream last night…" Kurt called out to Finn in a shaky voice as he pulled the sleeves of the loose sweater falling off his shoulders before playing with the bang of his hair. "I danced the part of the Swan Prince… in the prologue where he's enchanted by Rothbart."
He received an indifferent 'hmm' in reply. "Kurt, you know I barely know anything about that ballet stuff." His brother was in the kitchen, slicing fruit and dropping them into the blender with cups of yogurt. The bacon and pancakes on the stove began sizzling and he rushed over to it. "Shit!" He quickly began turning down the gas before the food burned anymore.
"I know—I just thought I'd share. In fact, it was different choreography…sort of like Matthew Bourne's but it followed the original story more—
"Kurt."
"Sorry." A momentary silence… "I was perfect…" he said, more so to his reflection, almost accepting that maybe, Finn just didn't care.
"Are you coming to eat or what?"
Kurt flinched at the tone in his brother's voice, "I'm really not that hungry." He picked up a towel and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead, then stood and entered the kitchen. He watched Finn put three pancakes, drenched in syrup on to a plate. "Finn, please don't make so much for me."
Finn pretended not to listen to him and added a few pieces of bacon.
"I don't think my stomach can handle all of-
His voice was drowned out by the buzzing of the blender. "Just eat what you can. You're skinny enough already."
The brunette nodded as if he were a child who was just scolded by an adult. His stomach churned in dismay and he picked up the fork, his eyes cast downward as Finn placed a glass of the fruit and yogurt smoothie in front of him.
Thankful that Finn hadn't punched him already, Kurt decided to push his luck, "So, I've been practicing a lot lately. Do you think Noah might cast me as a principle this time in the next production? I'm one of the best dancers they have but—
"I think you should stop worrying about what that prick thinks of you," Finn snapped. Now, he was just annoyed.
Kurt stared wide-eyed at him, obviously a bit hurt. Was that resentment toward him or his teacher? He proceeded to cut into his pancakes. "I was just asking. He promised to feature me more."
"I don't know—part of show-business is rejection. Maybe that might change this season," Kurt gratefully looked up into dark eyes, "Like you said, you're the best dancer he has. And you've been there long enough." The darker-haired man shrugged as he sat down across from him.
It seemed genuine enough, and then again his brother hardly ever gave him such a compliment anymore, so Kurt nodded.
"Burt and mom would be proud of you."
Finn received a sad smile in reply as Kurt's eyes diverted toward a family portrait on the wall behind Finn's head: An almost younger Finn and Kurt, with a nearly balding man standing beside Kurt, his arm place around his shoulder. Seated before them was a woman with brown, curly hair. All of them were dressed in black. Each face held a smile.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Kurt's attention snapped away from the picture and to his brother.
"No, I'll be fine."
"If you're sure."
"I thought you had that thing in the East Village later on."
"The art fair."
"Yeah."
A shrug, "I don't think that's going to work out," Finn continued, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth, "I walked in with my portfolio and before I could show them any of it they laughed me out of the room."
"I'm sorry, Finn," Kurt said, moving his hand toward his brother's, who retracted his and scooted away from the table and began walking toward the hallway. He said it himself, 'part of show business was rejection.'
"It's whatever. Good luck today at your ballet," he stopped at the, "Make sure you eat all of that. And don't get home too late."
Kurt nodded and watched Finn leave the kitchen. He attempted to peer out into the hallway after him. Once he heard an audible click—Finn was very adamant in keeping his door lock, as it was where he did most of his work—Kurt stood and picked up the plate, throwing its contents into the trash bin next to the counter. He opened the refrigerator door and took an egg out of its carton, then cracked it with a fork and began eating the yolk inside.
Today would be a long day.
Headphones in his ears with soft Tchaikovsky resounding through them, Kurt carefully eyed his faint reflection on the window door of the train. He lifted a hand to fix whatever imperfection he could find in his hair. On the other track, another train started passing. He peered through the window and saw a man with raven black hair, headphones in his ears. Kurt watched him a moment but lifted his head toward the intercom as the conductor made an announcement.
His gaze returned to the man, who raised his hand to mess with his hair, on the passing train again but he was startled to find that this time the man looked…exactly him? The cart made a sharp jolt and a heavy man standing next to him collided into his shoulder. He icily glared at Kurt.
"Sorry," the petite brunet said, rubbing his shoulder and watching as the express train kept moving forward. His train started coming to a stop. The doors behind him opened and he, along with some others, got off.
He emerged from the underground subway station onto the city street and wrapped himself tighter in his baby blue pea coat.
"Hey!" He turned his head and lifted a hand, smiling slightly. Another ballet dancer jogged toward him, then passed him to catch up with someone else a few feet away. The two walked a few paces ahead of him and were soon joined by another dancer. Kurt listened as they began chattering before one turned back to look at him.
He diverted his eyes to the sidewalk and made no move to join them.
As they approached Lincoln Center, more and more dancers, men and women, assembled toward the entrance. The three dancers ahead of Kurt were joined by a few more, their conversation growing more animated.
Kurt turned to the posters that aligned the walls, each one a picture of Rachel Berry, the company's prima ballerina, in her iconic Swan Lake role.
He deeply sighed with some jealousy. 'That will be me soon enough,' Kurt vowed. He then spotted Rachel walking further ahead and a wave of relief washed over him. He immediately shot a hand in the air, "Rachel!"
The brunette girl turned her head both directions, searching for the source of the voice and her eyes landed on Kurt. She smiled and waited for him to catch up. She was an older woman, slightly jaded and overly confident. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun and she wrapped her coat around herself tighter and reached out to hug Kurt. The other boy grinned.
"So?" he said as they started walking—Rachel walked with a higher-status and confidence, the exact opposite of Kurt.
"So, what?"
"So, how was it?"
"How was what?"
"Rachel…" he whined, giving her a pointed look.
"Sorry," she rolled her eyes and smiled, then replied, "It was all right."
"Just all right?" he asked, "How can Italy just be all right?" he adjusted the strap of his bag around his shoulder and beckoned for her to continue. However, she self-consciously looked at the other dancers.
"I don't think I can talk about it…not now."
"Oh," he said, a little disappointed, "Okay, well, can we meet up after rehearsal?" Rachel bit her lip and looked away. "Unless you two have plans…"
She turned back to him and said, "We don't."
"Great, then we can go to that new tea cafe. I'd love to hear more about your trip."
Rachel nodded and followed him up the steps leading to the stage door. She seemed a bit off, as far as Kurt could tell, and he normally could tell if something was up with her. "Okay, something's wrong."
"What?"
Kurt shrugged his shoulders, "Is everything okay?" he asked, stopping in front of her. Before she could answer, a group of older men and women rushed up to her, clamoring for an autograph. They excitedly surrounded her—and Kurt noted that their fandom lied somewhere between doting mother and serial stalker.
Kurt was pushed out of the circle. By the looks of it, though, Rachel didn't seem to mind. He watched with envy as she gracefully signed posters and other pieces of paper, batting her eyelashes and offering "thank yous" as they fed her compliments.
"I'll see you inside!"
Either she didn't hear him or she pretended not to. He decided it was the former and turned to go inside.
Kurt entered the cramped dressing room, fit for the soloist dancers, and put his bag in a chair in front of a mirror. Another dancer, the confident, but icy Jesse St. James, applied a bit of eye-liner. "Hi, Jesse," Kurt greeted.
Jesse ignore him.
The other seven dancers were getting ready for rehearsal, applying make-up, changing clothes, fixing shoes, etc, and Kurt started taking off his street clothes.
"Did you see Rachel today?" a dancer, Wes, said, "I can't believe she's back."
"Of course she's back," Jesse replied, rolling his eyes and fixing his hair, "I mean, can't she take a hint? The company's broke; no one comes to see her anymore."
Kurt, ignoring the gossip, took out his new pointe slippers and started breaking them in, pulling out the cardboard shank inside and burning the tips of the satin laces.
"You think it's her last season?"
"Fingers crossed," another dancer, Jeff, replied.
A boy named Sebastian piped up as Kurt cut the slippers with a pair of scissors, "I just think she needs to try something new."
"No, the company needs someone new," Jesse said.
"Like?"
"Like someone who isn't approaching menopause." Laughter, "Giselle…" Jesse scoffed, "Are you fucking kidding me? She looked like my mother up there."
"More like grandmother," Wes said.
Furious, Kurt began banging his slipper onto the floor. One annoyed Jesse St. James turned to him with a fixed glare. "Are we bothering you?" The other boy looked up at him, embarrassed, and to the others, then back to Jesse. He silently shook his head. "Are you sure? You don't have something to say?"
"It's sad…"
"What's sad?"
Your jealousy. He put down the slippers and placed his hands in his lap. "I think Rachel's a beautiful dancer," he said with a shrug.
Jesse scoffed and rolled his eyes, then turned back to the mirror. "Of course you do." Kurt's hands started to tremble as he grew tense, his eyes fixated on Jesse's stupid hair. Maybe it'd catch fire. "She only tolerates you because you kiss her ass." After that jab, his eyes returned to the floor.
Jeff said, "Come on, Jesse."
"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Jesse turned around and snapped his fingers in Kurt's direction, demanding his attention. Once he had it: "Like the pretty girl who hangs out with the fat girl."
Kurt's heart dropped.
Another male, ear buds in his ears and still in street clothes, rushed into the room, out of breathe. He looked to Kurt. "Soloists?" The other dancers watched him. Kurt nodded at the man—who almost resembled him—he smiled and said, "Great, thanks." He further entered the dressing room, pulling off his bag. "I fucking missed my stop. If someone told me the difference between express and local before that…" He inspected an empty dressing-room table next to Wes. "Is this one taken?"
Kurt stopped listening only to stare at the man some more. He had seen him before…on the train. Yet the similarity was uncanny. "I'm Blaine," the raven-haired man said as Kurt proceeded to pack his slippers into his bag, watching Jesse eye the new pretty-boy up and down.
Disgusted, he stood with a huff and left the dressing room.
The entire company—men, women, and a few still-pubescent corps dancers—spread out in several even rows across the room, stood beside ballet barres, warming up. Anonymous, near the back of the room, Kurt went through his warm-up moves, concentrating on perfecting each pose, each movement.
Legs… arms… hands… feet… all moving together in unison as the female dance teacher lead them through the exercises, tapping her cane onto the floor: "To the back, fondue, to the back, plie…"
Kurt watched himself in the mirror, and then he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Hey, Kurt." He turned to the blonde girl behind him, Brittany. She whispered: "Speaking of fondue, you should totally check out my web-show, 'Fondue For Two'. This week, Lord Tubbington and I will be performing selections from Cats."
"No talking!" the teacher ordered, her voice rising, "Focus, you two!" She proceeded to take the dancers through the warm-ups.
Kurt bit his lip and whispered, "I'll be sure to check it out, Brittany, if you try not to get me into trouble again." She smiled, pleased with his answer. Kurt turned back to his reflection in the mirror, focusing on precising his movements. The instructor approached him and rubbed his shoulder.
"Beautiful, Kurt, but it needs to be looser. Not so controlled." He nodded, suddenly feeling insecure. Suddenly, the girls around him began stripping off their sweatshirts and heavy clothing. He looked up.
By the entrance stood the brooding, almost intimidating director of the company, Noah Puckerman—Puck to his friends. He had a slightly shaven, intense look about him. The look of an artist.
Magnetic and alluring to both men and women.
The dancers proceeded to take off their warm-up gear, showing off their bodies, as Puck walked around the room, judgmentally surveying each one. He touched a few of them on their shoulders, correcting movements.
Rachel watched him with a particularly concentrated gaze. The music from the piano stopped. "Good morning, everyone." They responded, nervous and unsure. "I hope you all enjoyed your break. This season, we open with an all new production of the classic Swan Lake." He glanced at Rachel, who immediately looked away to the other soloists. Kurt caught the exchange. "And an all new production begins with a new Odette."
The room erupted into gasps and hushed whispers. Jesse, in particular, slyly raised an eyebrow and smirked at Blaine beside him. Puck made a signal toward the piano player, Brad. The dancers picked up where they left off in their warm-ups as Puck proceeded to move around the room, placing a hand on every other soloist's shoulder.
"A fresh face to present to the world," Puck continued, watching Rachel, "Odette is vulnerable…never known love… An innocent creature. Not proud. Not vain." Kurt watched her as well, searching for a reaction. She turned to him with an annoyed glare. Kurt looked away.
"Lord Tubbington almost ruptured a vein practicing 'Macavity' last night," Brittany whispered to Kurt. He faced her, actually unsure of how to react to that. The other dancers behind her shushed her. His eyes returned to the spot where Rachel stood. She was gone.
Puck continued moving past each row of dancers, correcting mistakes in certain dancers' movements. Placing a hand on one soloist and then bypassing another. He walked past Blaine and Jesse.
Kurt tried to look away as Puck neared, yet his eyes kept returning to the toned man, finally settling into the pair of beautiful hazel eyes. He watched, hopeful. Puck glanced at him a moment. Kurt nearly melted at the proximity of how close he'd gotten. Close enough to see the stubble of hair under his nose, on his cheek, around his pink, parted lips, and close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne and musk.
He deflated as Puck walked by without tapping him.
The music continued for a bit as Puck tapped a few more soloists. He then moved to the front of the room and signaled for Brad to stop.
"Very good." He paused. "All of the soloists I touched, you will remain here and continue rehearsal with the rest of the company."
Confused chatter amongst the company.
"The five who I didn't touch, will meet with me in Studio 82 after the break." Kurt grinned to himself and felt Brittany wrap her arms around him from behind.
The music resumed.
In the hallway, Kurt sat alone in a corner with his eyes closed, practicing on perfecting the arm movements of the white swan's variation. The sound of glass breaking and a shriek startled him and within seconds he was onto his feet.
Around the corner, he spotted a dressing room door, slightly open, Rachel's name card on the door. He watched from the outside as a flower vase hit the mirror, shattering before smashing on onto the floor.
"Fuck! Fucking bastard!" Inside, Rachel ransacked the room, throwing chairs, ripping down posters and cloth from the walls. "Fuck you! Fuck you!" After kicking over a chair and tossing picture frames at the mirror, she finally emerged from the room, her bag slung over her arm. She turned on Kurt, bellowing "What the fuck are you looking at?" before storming off, not even waiting to see how he'd react. Terrified, Kurt watched her leave, wondering if the exchange with Puck was what brought this on.
Maybe Jesse was right about their relationship…
He turned toward the door as it creaked open a little. Figuring Rachel wouldn't be back anytime soon, he decided to venture inside, where the prima donna had certainly done some extensive damage. He moved a bit closer to her vanity mirror, noticing the wallet-sized picture of Puck.
He touched it, obviously a bit smitten with his dance teacher. Deciding that Rachel would no longer want it, he took the picture off of the mirror and placed it inside his sweatpants pocket.
He continued to touch little things on her table, pens, a make-up kit, until his fingers landed on a small tube of lipstick. He popped the cap off, staring in awe at its reddish-burgundy color. He watched the dressing room door, placing the cap back onto the tube, then sneaking it into his pocket.
He quickly scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Inside a slightly smaller dance-studio, Kurt watched with the others from the side as Jeff danced the Act II variation, his audition in progress. He seemed to flow throughout the room, elegantly, even if aware of the many pairs of eyes watching him, judging him, especially Puck, who stood in the middle of the room, a hand to his chin. He lifted it.
"Stop." Displeased, he shook his head. Unimpressed, he waved Jeff away, signaling for him to pack up and leave. "Odette is forever a swan. Completely trapped and you're…smiling?"
Jeff glanced away, raising his eyebrows, "I'm sorry."
"Just…go. Kurt, you're up."
Kurt gasped, suddenly aware of the other dancers watching him. He stood and moved to the center of the room, his eyes trying to avoid Puck's. "Let me see some fear when you dance, okay? Don't hide it." He nodded. The music began.
Kurt began dancing the variation from Act II, his nervousness adding some depth and character to his movement, meshing well with the role. While precise, there was vulnerability. Tortured. And longing. Exactly how the role of the white swan should be danced. Impressed: "Okay, good!" The music stopped as Puck's voice brought Kurt out of his trance. "That was very beautiful, Kurt."
Approval…finally, "Thank you,"he smiled.
Puck approached him from behind and placed both his hands on the brunet's slim waist. Kurt turned toward him, "No, Kurt. Face yourself. In the mirror. Do you want this?" He whispered lowly so no one else in the room but Kurt could hear him: "Do you want the role?"
Silent, Kurt stared at his reflection and blinked, for a moment believing he'd just seen himself smirk and caress Puck's hands. "I—
"Are you scared?"
"I'm just a little nervous," Kurt confessed, his voice shaky, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Fear is good. Fear is a sign of desire," Puck said, turning Kurt's pale face toward him while tightening his grip on his waist. "Do you want this?" Kurt wasn't sure if he was talking about the role now.
Kurt nodded, "If you want me to be—
"Answer me straight," Puck said, "Be honest."
Yes.
"What?"
"Yes…I-I do. More than anything."
"If I were casting the Swan Prince based just on your dancing here, alone, the role would be yours," Puck said, leaning in closer to Kurt, his lips inches away from his cheek.
"Really?" Flattered, Kurt said, "Thank you."
"But I'm not," Puck snapped, turning Kurt's attention back to the mirror, and walked away from him, "There's also the black swan. The darker half," he smirked at Jesse, "The evil twin, Odile. The character is bold and seductive. Unafraid. That's where the real challenge lies."
Kurt once again felt self-conscious, knowing all eyes were on him. The role was his to claim…or lose.
Puck continued: "To master this, you must have the ability to seduce Prince Siegfried…and seduce the audience." He waved to the piano player, "Odile's Act III coda, please." An upbeat piano instrumental began. An intimidated, Kurt started taking the first few steps before launching into the show's most difficult and famous part of Odile's Pas de Deux: the thirty-two consecutive fouettes.
However, his movements were very stiff and mechanical.
"I want to see passion, Kurt!" Puck shouted, "Confidence! You're seducing us. Don't try and control it. Seduce us, damn it! The Prince, the corps, the audience, the world. Don't just do the turns!" He grew more irate. "You look like a scared little boy, longing for daddy's approval!"
If Kurt wasn't already frustrated, that low blow did it and his face showed. Puck couldn't have known—but that didn't make the criticism any less wounding.
The music started building in intensity as he pushed himself, growing more and more fearful and frustrated each turn. He continued into each spin "Attack it!" Spin, "Attack it!" Spin, "Attack it!" Spin, "Attack it!" Spin, "Come on!" The sound of a door bursting open threw him off and he stumbled, and if he'd landed anymore wrong he would have twisted an ankle. The music stopped.
His focus faltered and his eyes landed on the entrance. Blaine stood there, aware of his tardiness and the faces turned his way. "Sorry."
Puck spoke up, "So nice of you to join us," he folded his arms, "Everyone, this is Blaine Anderson, from San Francisco. He'll be filling in Sam's old spot."
"Hi,"
"Get warmed up," Puck ordered as Blaine walked past him to join the rest of the soloists.
"No, it's okay," he said, smirking back at Puck, "I'm good."
Kurt timidly spoke up, "Sh—should I go again?"
"No," Puck shook his head and waved him off, "Thank you, I've seen enough. Jesse, you're up next. The white swan variation please."
Kurt sadly walked over to the wall, where the rest of the soloists sat, and pulled his bag over his shoulder. Blaine stripped himself of his coat, accidentally bumping his elbow into Kurt's shoulder, "Sorry…"
As if burned, he glared at Blaine and then left the room, sadly wiping the tears from his eyes while the ache in his throat grew more and more. Once outside, he broke down. He could hear the same music playing from inside. He peered through the glass window, watching as Jesse handled the intense movement with ease, feeling confident and superior, and Puck watching him as if he'd pounce on him in any minute.
Envious, Kurt's face hardened and his breath hitched. He walked away.
Inside a bathroom stall, Kurt emptied whatever he had in his stomach into the toilet bowl, tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. He lifted a foot to push the knob, flushing the acidic chunks down. He sat down on the seat and began unlacing his slippers, stopping every second to wipe his eyes with a sleeve.
Puck would pick Jesse and, once again, Kurt would spend the duration of the run in the shadow of another dancer. What would his dead parents think of him right now?
He ultimately decided to place the blame on that pretty-boy who'd barged in when Kurt was already feeling vulnerable. He was the reason Kurt choked. He was the reason Jesse would be dancing the lead role in Swan Lake. And worst of all: the reason Puck now saw him as a disappointment. A weak, scared little boy.
"I am weak..." Puck's words caused his tears to flow faster, so he rested his face in his hands, and bawled.
Kurt placed his key into the apartment door's keyhole, turning the lock and then the knob before stepping inside. The lights in the living room were off.
"Finn?" He dropped his keys into the basket near the door and shut it, unbuttoning his coat and removing the scarf from his neck. He flipped on the light switch, "Finn, are you home?" he called out again. He heard some shuffling behind a door in the hallway before it opened. Finn emerged, dressed in a black wife-beater and pajama-bottoms and carrying a half-eaten bowl of cereal.
"Hey, you're back."
Kurt nodded, "Yeah."
"How'd it go?" suddenly feeling humiliated again, Kurt shrugged his shoulders. He hung his coat onto the coat hook. "Is everything all right?"
Kurt shook his head before stepping forward. "He, uhm…"
"Aww…shit." Finn placed his bowl on the table and wrapped his arms around Kurt. "I knew this would happen," the younger boy's body began convulsing with sobs as he buried his nose into Finn's shoulder, completely falling apart in front of him. "It's okay."
"No…"
"Shhh…It'll be okay."
"I'm so ashamed…!" Kurt's hands gripped the back of Finn's shirt, all of his feelings from earlier once again pouring out. He had wanted this so badly. At least this time, he had the comfort of another person. His brother. Finn stroked his hair, slowly rocking him. "And he wouldn't even let me finish…"
"How about I make you some warm milk?"
Kurt didn't see Finn grinning the entire time.
Kurt re-laced the ribbons on his pointe slippers, watching his reflection in the mirror. He would perfect this even if it killed him. That or he'd lie to Puck tomorrow and tell him he finished it…and then ask him for the part. But for now, it couldn't hurt to just try.
He stood up, arching and flexing his feet a bit and moving his ankles around before spreading his arms out. Then he began the thirty-two fouettes, finding a spot on the mirror to focus on with each turn. He could recall one time in his life where he had wanted something so badly:
He just met his father at the parent pick-up area of the middle school parking lot, silently buckling his seat belt while clutching his backpack to his chest.
"Is everything all right, kiddo?"
Kurt nodded, unable to take his eyes off of the window. Burt Hummel was a smart man and could always figure out if something was upsetting his son, as the two always often shared everything. He knew about his big dreams and aspirations to the little things that made him tick. Even when Kurt nervously came out to him, Burt merely nodded and said, "I know," then treated him to a night out at his favorite restaurant.
Now, Burt would be sure to get to the bottom of this.
"Those boys aren't still giving you a hard time, are they?"
Kurt shook his head. "No."
The older man paused a moment, taking off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "It's…not a boy is it? You're not dating anyone yet, are you?"
"Oh, Jesus, dad… No."
'Thank God.' He sighed. He would always love his son, no matter what. But that just wasn't a conversation he was ready to have. But he still wanted to know about whatever was making his son so distant and upset.
"It's glee club."
'Oh…' He could deal with that.
Kurt continued, "Mr. Ryerson gave the solo I wanted to Hank Saunders, even though it's in my range. He wouldn't even let us audition for it. And it had been my idea."
This wouldn't stand with Burt. If this was something that was important to his son, he wasn't going to sit by and let that closet-case give away something Kurt had worked hard for to some kid just because he had a creepy, unlawful obsession with him.
The next day Sandy Ryerson was fired and a willing, younger teacher became director of the glee club.
That memory and the sound of his shoe thwacking against the floor pushed Kurt. He would finish this and then Puck would have to cast him in the leading role. Even when the sharp pain in his right toe screamed at him to stop, he kept going. 'Just a few more.' Spin. Pain. Spin. Spin. Spin. Pain. Spin. Spin.
He ended the choreography by lifting his working leg higher through passé to slow down, and then shot it far out behind him into a big fourth position, a triumphant smile on his face.
He did it.
The burning feeling at the end of his large toe brought him back to reality. He stumbled a bit before falling onto the hardwood floor, quickly unlacing his slippers and pulling them off. He moaned at the sight of the blood seeping through his stocking.
He unwrapped his foot and pulled it out through the bottom hole in his stocking, staring in horror at the giant split in the toenail with blood oozing out. "Oh, no…" He grimaced, taking a couple of breaths and allowing himself to stand, before limping down the hall into the bathroom.
But that didn't matter. He finished it.
He would tell Puck tomorrow. Hell, he'd show him if he let him. And he'd have to give him the part.
A/N: I'm baaaack! Hello, my babies. I'm back with a lovely new fic. that I've been working on for a year now. I had actually requested this on an LJ comm. and then thought, 'Fuck it, I'll write it myself." So here it is! I've taken heavy inspiration From Mark Heyman, writer of the screenplay for the second draft of Black Swan, which is a lot more darker than the final film.
Also, special thanks to my luffer, Misskayla. For making me sit at my laptop and stare at this until I started writing something. Bitch.
I'll be back soon with another chapter-I can't believe it's taken me this long to post this one. Anyway, leave some reviews, thoughts, suggestions, feedback, your firstborn, etc. Cheers! Have a happy new year full of Puckurt-shipping!
-Leaf