Second Bar's the Charm (or Rude Boy)
The last time Blaine had been inside a gay bar had been the fiasco at Scandals more than a year ago. Now, he was finally in New York, and carrying a very good fake i.d. and a very bad set of directions – both courtesy of Santana. By the time he found the place, it was well past ten, and bouncer gave his license only the most cursory of looks before waving him inside.
Slipping in between the sweaty, grinding and over-glittered mass of people only the floor, he reached the bar and ordered a beer, paying more attention to the dancers than the bartender. Finally, his eyes landed on a familiar trio. On one side was Santana, looking devilishly sensual in a flame-red mini dress and matching heels, curls bouncing to the beat. On the opposite side was Brittany, giggling and enthusiastic and graceful, who wore a pair of bright white bell-bottoms and a sparkly green halter. And in between the two, in a pair of leather pants that could have been painted on, a formfitting blue designer shirt and a pair of knee-high boots, was his boyfriend, beaming and beautiful.
"Hey, man, your beer." The words came from behind, and he spun on his stool to face the bartender, a man in his mid-40s wearing basic blue jeans and a t-shirt with the bar's name on it. Apparently, he noticed where Blaine's gaze had gone, as he leaned in. "Listen, you're new, which means you don't know any better. But you're not getting within two feet of the guy."
Blaine forced down a smirk and simply raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"He and those girls, they come in every other weekend like clockwork. They get drunk, they dance, they carry on, and then they all leave together. They never pick anyone up," the man explained, before expanding on his story. "Doesn't make much sense. I mean, if they were all together, like a three-way relationship, then it'd be understandable. But the darker gal, first night they came in she announced to the entire place that the man was gayer than gay. And she and the blonde are only interested in each other. Then, as soon as guys start approaching, the claws come out and she scares them until they walk away and don't come back."
This time, Blaine couldn't stop the grin that threatened to split his cheeks. He knew pushy come-ons made Kurt uncomfortable, so he'd actually paid Santana to watch out for him while they were in New York and he was stuck in Ohio. It looked like she had done a good job fulfilling her end of the bargain.
"Maybe they just haven't seen the right guy yet," he tossed back to the bartender with a winning smile.
With an assured shake of his head, the man replied, "I'll have another drink waiting for when they knock you back on your ass."
Laughing, Blaine set down his bottle and weaved through the crowd towards the three friends. Moving into arm's reach of them, he was genuinely surprised when Santana seemed to sense him and twisted around, a threatening frown firmly on her face. Then she recognized him, and rolled her eyes. "Finally. Where the hell've you been, hobbit? I gots more important things to do than keep your boyfriend's sweet ass away from every horny gay in this queer club."
Before he could respond, she had grabbed Brittany and dragged her into a secluded corner to, apparently, try to stick her tongue as far down the blonde's throat as was physically possible.
Meanwhile, Kurt was dancing around, hips swaying, eyes closed, head thrown back and his lovely, slender neck on display for everyone to see. Blaine felt a possessiveness he had been entirely unaware of previously rise in him, accompanied by a little growl when a few men – obviously enchanted by the picture an unknowing Kurt made – started to move closer. Wrapping his arms securely around his boyfriend's waist, he pulled their chests sharply together.
Eyes shooting open, Kurt's mouth dropped at the sight of the shorter male, all curly hair and tight jeans and adorably dorky bowtie. "Blaine!" If the way the older boy immediately lunged down for a sloppy kiss was any indication, he was more than a little hammered. Blaine knew he should probably worry, considering that he'd never actually seen Kurt drunk before, and the one story he had heard ended with vomit on a school counselor. But his boyfriend was just so obliviously, wonderfully sexy, and the newest song to start playing was one he knew Kurt couldn't resist, drunk or sober.
He was barely even startled when the boy began belting out the lyrics.
"Come here, rude boy, boy; can you get it up? Come here, rude boy, boy; is you big enough? Take it, take it, baby, baby. Take it, take it, love me, love me!"
Booty camp and his short time with the Cheerios had done well by Kurt's dancing. And his movements, smooth and sinuous and almost snake-like, were making Blaine's mouth water and his palms itch. He clearly wasn't the only one affected, judging by the stares that most of the men, and even a few of the women, were aiming at his boyfriend.
Which simply made him even more determined to show them that this gorgeous creature was all his. Spinning Kurt so that his back was pressed to Blaine's front, he tucked his chin over the taller male's shoulder and dropped a kiss on the side of that irresistible neck. And as the chorus started again and Kurt swayed and ground back against him, he smugly watched everyone else watching them, including the dumbfounded bartender.
"Come here, rude boy, boy; can you get it up? Come here, rude boy, boy; is you big enough? Take it, take it, baby, baby. Take it, take it, love me, love me!"