A/N: Not my usual fic pairing, but I do love a little Raine. It's a little OOC but I figure they've been in college a few years and they do what they want. As always thank you for reading and please, please let me know what you think and review. :) [Oh, and this was written for jackpotgirl91 on tumblr who does AMAZING things with Learren/Raine so you should go follow her. ;)]
Rachel wanted to strangle her best friend sometimes.
She had met Chelsea in her very first theatre class at NYU, and they had been inseparable ever since. Chelsea's crisp mezzo-soprano was a perfect duetting complement to her own voice and they shared a love of Broadway and Burberry.
But Chelsea was a bit of a hipster.
And that was why Rachel was in a dive bar in Brooklyn at 9 PM on a Friday night.
"I'm telling you, Rach, this band is incredible. You're going to love them."
"If it's anything like the last three 'incredible bands' you've dragged me to see, I'm going to require more alcohol than usual, Chelsea." Rachel pulled at her dress and shifted a little on her bar stool, making the rickety thing squeak and rock dangerously. The only consolation of these nights spent in hipster dens all over New York was that she got to dress up and get a little drunk, and she had prepared accordingly tonight in a frothy black minidress with patent red shoes and jewelry. "What band plays at 9 PM, anyway?"
"Untapped Veins isn't on until 10, actually. I thought we could use this time to get drunk." Chelsea grinned at Rachel (who merely glared at her) and turned to the bartender. "Two Irish mudslides, please."
"Why do I put up with you?" Rachel asked, grabbing her drink from the bartender and taking a mighty drag.
Chelsea's reply of "because I pay for your alcohol" was cut off by an ear-splitting squeal of feedback. Both girls turned to see a boy in a turquoise plaid shirt and black jeans fiddling with the microphone on the small stage. Chelsea huffed – "opening acts!" – and turned back to her mudslide, but Rachel's gaze lingered. The guy on stage had dark, curly hair, a heavy dose of scruff, and a Yamaha keyboard in front of him. He looked… weirdly familiar.
"Um, hi everybody," the guy said, having wrestled the microphone into submission. "Thanks for being here tonight. I'm going to sing a couple of songs for you guys so… enjoy."
Rachel's eyebrows drew together. He even sounded familiar. But where was all the smarm? The sass? The propriety? Under all that (freaking sexy) facial hair couldn't be –
All doubts were erased when he started to sing. Rachel prided herself on recognizing the incredible talent in others and there was no way she could ever forget a voice like that. It was rich and textured and – yes, there it was – accompanied by a falsetto face that made her want to do things to him.
"Is this guy serious? Isn't 'Go the Distance' from Hercules? Who does Disney – Rach?" Chelsea turned back to her friend, who was staring at the singer onstage with her mouth slightly open. "Rachel?"
"What?" She didn't look away as she fumbled around behind her for her drink and, finding it, took a long slurp.
"You know you're drooling all over a guy who's singing Disney covers, right?"
"Mmmph."
"Rachel. As your best friend it is my duty to inform you when you're – RACHEL! "
Rachel slid off her barstool, mudslide in hand, and started to push her way through the American Apparel-clad crowd.
She bit her lip when he hit a particularly high note in the second chorus and held it, his vibrato sending chills down her spine. She had pined after Blaine so badly in high school – his cool demeanor, his fondness for jumping on furniture, and this voice. But after their one perfect night of alcohol-induced passion, she was forced to accept that Blaine was entirely uninterested in women. So while his smolder never stopped making her crazy, she squelched her feelings when he started dating Kurt.
But he and Kurt had broken up years ago.
And now he was fifteen feet in front of her, making love to that keyboard and warbling out a song that made her heart constrict and doing it all while looking like some sort of artsy hobo and she had never wanted him more.
As he was finishing the song, she finally made it up to the edge of the stage, and he saw her.
She was sure he recognized her because their eyes locked (and had his been so cinnamon and sparkly and long-lashed in high school? because she really couldn't remember anything right now with the way he was looking at her with them). And he smiled, all full lips and straight teeth and she nearly dropped her drink but then he launched into "Easy" by the Commodores and she felt the sudden need to take another swallow, willing the Bailey's to kick in faster.
Rachel willed herself to look away from the beautiful man performing in front of her for just a moment, trying to clear her head. It didn't help much, since she could still hear him crooning about being easy like Sunday morning, but it kept her from being a pile of mush.
She needed to convince herself not to crawl up on this stage and insist on performing some sort of cheesy duet with him (or tearing that shirt right off his very fine body). But she was finding that difficult when her thought pattern was this erratic:
You haven't seen him in over two years. (Holy mother, the breathiness). He might not recognize you! No, he definitely did. Even if he recognizes you, he might not want to see you. (In the name of Barbra, what note was that?) No, he definitely does. He's gay. There it is, Rachel! He's gay. He's gay he's gay he's gay he's gay…
Blaine picked that moment to inform the crowd he had an old friend in the audience and he wondered if she'd come up and do a little singing with him.
She couldn't hold on to the "he's gay" bit when he came to edge of the stage, extended his hand, and pulled her onto the stage and into a hug.
"Rachel," he breathed against her neck as he hugged her. "I can't believe you're here. It's amazing to see you. You look stunning." There was light applause and a catcall or two, but all Rachel could focus on was the way his shoulders felt under her hands, sculpted and warm, and his chest enveloped her. His scruff brushed against her cheek as he pulled away and she shivered.
"Do you remember 'Not Alone'?" he asked. She nodded mutely. "I know you won't mind helping me out…"
"No, of course not," she finally managed. He gestured her to the other mic stand, standing dormant towards the back of the stage, and she took it, fiddling with the switch to turn it on. She stood, watching, as he sat back at the keyboard and played the opening strains of "Not Alone."
She shifted awkwardly as his voice filled the little bar. While most of the crowd was talking or watching Blaine, a few people were looking at her. One of which was Chelsea, who looked like someone had put actual mud in her mudslide. Rachel gave a half-smile, which didn't soften her best friend in the slightest. But then she was distracted again – that voice, that stupid falsetto face she could only half-see from her current angle – and it was her turn to join him.
The sound of their voices together gave her chills and if their looks were any indication, they gave a few of the bar patrons chills, too. It had been so long since she had duetted with Blaine, she could hardly stand it. By the time the song ended – Blaine riffing ridiculously in his upper register, her choosing a simpler melody to let him shine – she was so consumed with feeling she didn't know how to form a coherent sentence.
"Rachel Berry, everybody!" he announced. Despite the hundreds of times she had stood, soaking up applause, Rachel felt a blush color her cheeks. "Thank you guys so much for letting me sing for you tonight. If you like what you hear you can check me out at .com."
Blaine started to pack his keyboard away, leaving Rachel standing awkwardly. She hurriedly replaced her microphone and scurried over and off the stage to stand beside him.
He finished zipping the case up and turned to lay one of those charming smiles on her. "Rachel! Thank you so much for lending me your Broadway belt. I'm sorry it was so sudden – I just had to have you singing with me when I saw you!" He reached out and grabbed her hand, guitar callouses rubbing across her palm. She looked down at their joined hands, a mingle of olive skin and her cherry nail polish. "How have you been?"
"Wonderful," she answered honestly. "What about you? It's been so long – "
"I've been great. I'm at MSM. Composition major. And you have to be studying musical theatre." Rachel finally found the strength to look back up at him and instantly regretted it, because those eyes were even more shiny up close and that smirk was so very Blaine and were his fingers moving across her palm?
"Yes, at NYU. I'm in the process of auditioning for an off-Broadway role as we speak, actually."
"I can't say I'm surprised." He smiled again and gave her hand a light squeeze. "Is Finn with you?"
That was his question? Really? "No," she laughed. "We broke up right after I moved here. I guess he couldn't stand a long-distance relationship."
"Oh." Something about the way Blaine said the word sent another burst of heat through Rachel's body. "Well, then, that makes it totally OK for me to say this: WOW."
"Wow what?" she asked, giggling.
Blaine spun her around by their entwined hands. "Look at you. You were always beautiful in high school but WOW."
"Oh, the empty flattery of a gay man." Rachel laughed as she said it, but it came out as bitter and hollow and flat.
"Come on, Rachel. Really? You had to know that was a phase."
She dropped his hand. "What?"
"I loved Kurt, don't get me wrong!" he said, throwing his hands up in defense as Rachel scowled, "but – and you helped me figure this out – I really like women, too."
Rachel blinked at him. "You were '100% gay' in high school."
"Yes, because Kurt didn't believe in bisexuality. And I loved him, and I didn't want to upset him more than I did with you."
"But you preferred kissing Kurt to kissing girls at the time." It was less an accusation and more a search for affirmation.
"I think you were probably the best kiss I ever had, actually. Drunk or sober." He winked, damn him, actually WINKED. "If you hadn't been so in love with Finn…"
"Tell me you're kidding me."
"Not kidding," he said with a shake of his head.
She couldn't stop herself from kissing the hell out of him.
Five minutes later Rachel was pressed up against the door of the women's bathroom as Blaine mauled her with kisses, all lips and teeth on her ear, down her neck, past her collarbone. The scratch of his facial hair was almost more than she could stand; she was arching into him with abandon, relishing the dark growls that snarled out of his chest each time she did. "You're sure you're not gay?" she managed to whimper out.
Blaine pulled back, panting. "Really?" He ground his hips into hers and went back to work without waiting for an answer.
They both growled when someone banged against the door with enough force to move them. "RACHEL BARBRA BERRY, WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING? YOU'RE NOT DRUNK ENOUGH FOR THIS LEVEL OF SLUTTINESS! RACHEL! OPEN THE DOOR!"
Blaine slammed Rachel into the door harder in response and whispered as he licked her ear. "Your friend's kind of a buzzkill."
"I know," Rachel panted out, "but without her I would never have been in a hipster-infested cave like this one."
"Remind me to buy her a drink," Blaine whispered with a bite to her collarbone.