The Concert Experience, a glee fanfic

I went to a concert, and none of this happened any other place but in my head.

Completely unedited, just written roughly to get it out of my head. This is an AU where Kurt and Blaine didn't meet during high school. Enjoy!

Warnings for mention of masturbation, and a few swear-words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

"I love you, man, but I'm not sacrificing the chance to see him exit the building just because you can't hold it," Wes tells Blaine serenely. "I'll need more than your couch for a couple of days if I return home to Lucy emptyhanded," he adds solemnly.

His fiancée managed to catch a bad case of the flu, and it was impossible for her to even consider trying joining them for the concert. Wes and David had been planning this double date with their girls ever since the tickets were first available five months ago. Jesse St. James was such a popular crowd-pleaser, so the concert sold out in 30 minutes. Wes had every intention of staying home with his sick fiancée, but she had kicked him out of their apartment in a fever-rage, and promised she'd unlock the door if he came back with something of a memorabilia.

It had been short notice, but Blaine didn't have important plans, and accepted the offer to use the spare ticket. David and Wes had made dinner reservations before the concert, and Blaine's presence probably lessened Wes' feeling of being a fifth wheel for that. It had, however, reminded Blaine of his chronic status as single. He watched his older Dalton friends settle down with their adult lives, while he himself seemed incapable of keeping someone who wanted enough of the same things he needed in life to make it work. So to compensate for his singledoom, he may have enjoyed one too many beers at the restaurant.

At the concert arena, he had consumed a few more beers, mostly out of boredom. Jesse St. James was notorious for being a diva, and making his audiences wait longer than most people found acceptable. Even some of the die-hard fans complained about the lack of performance on stage. While waiting, they were treated to some awful techno-remixes of the artist's greatest hits, played too loud to make even generic small talk with his friends possible.

The concert had been great, though. Jesse knew how to give a show, he was a performer to heart, and (unfortunately) Blaine couldn't find anything in his vocal skills to critique. Blaine knew his music because he genuinely loves music and keeps updated about almost everything. But he wouldn't consider himself a fan of Jesse's, which gave him the possibility to take a metaphorical step back and enjoy everything going on on that stage, not just the star. Jesse's concerts came with a big band, and no less than eight back up-singers constantly dancing. Blaine had been amused when he noticed they all danced barefeet, and remembered a rumour about Jesse's complexes for his lack of height. Jesse was of course wearing thick-soled boots.

All in all, the concert had been a good experience, but it was some of the dancers that caught Blaine's eyes time and time again. Especially one young man, who danced effortlessly and did moves Blaine didn't know a body could do. His joints had to be made from magic, and when he moved his hips Blaine feared he'd pop a boner in front of his friends – and hundreds of excited Jesse-fans. Even with the distance, the bright lights and the smoke, Blaine was captivated by his expressive eyes. The dancer performed with his entire body, and Blaine could read the message in the lyrics on his face, his eyes, his body and his fingers. When he strained his ears, he thought he could separate his voice from the other seven back up-singers and Jesse himself. But he couldn't be sure. Not until Jesse messed up in the middle of a ballad - everything slowed down, a quiet piano accompanying him, and just the hot dancer and a girl doing something modern and ballet-looking in the background. Jesse forgot the lyrics, and it caught him so entirely by surprise that he fumbled and didn't find his cue. It all happened so sudden, some people may even have missed it, but Hot Dancer moved gracefully towards Jesse, and sang with a voice that gave Blaine goosebumps all over. He made it look like a duet, like something that was supposed to happen, as if he was the ex-lover telling Jesse he can do better than him anyway, so don't mourn me, I'm the one who lost the best thing ever happening to me. And then Jesse cleared his head, and continued with his power-ballad. The song was entirely ridiculous, and Blaine could swear he saw Hot Dancer roll his eyes. But the clear crystal voice was entirely captivating. Jesse had been humble enough to introduce his saviour, and his name would for always be tattooed on Blaine's brain: Kurt Hummel.

And now the concert is over, the stage is cleared, the lights are back on, and the hope for a third encore is drowned. Wes is determined to get someone's autograph for Lucy, and David with his girlfriend Janet said something about going back to their teenage roots and be all fangirl-crazy for once.

"It's not as if they'll exit immediately, you'll catch up with us," David says apologetically as Wes tugs them out, leaving Blaine on his own to tend to his beer-soaked blather.

Blaine merely shrugs, because he doesn't need to see more of Jesse St. James tonight, and he's already planned drinks with his friends at a cute cocktail bar across the street. So he isn't abandoned.

He's humming happily as he enters the men's bathroom in the back of the concert arena. It's vacated, so he stops by one of the urinals. He's whistling a melody he composes on the go, and looks around curiously to read the posters from previous concerts splattered up all over the walls. He's interrupted by the sound of the door opening, though, and politely averts his eyes to focus on his shoes. He's still whistling inside his head, feeling giddy. Wes had paid his dinner, the closest thing to a date he's had in four months. He's been dancing for almost two hours while ogling the eyecandy behind Jesse St. James. And there's a mojito with his name just around the corner. Who can complain with those fortunate shoes on his feet tonight?

Speaking of shoes.

Whoever entered the bathroom is standing next to him, sporting a pair of shoes he saw in the latest Vogue as part of the upcoming spring trends. Whoever owns these has some mean connections, because they aren't up for common sale yet, at least not according to the Fashion Bible.

"I love your shoes!" he gushes, because he's in a wonderful mood, and everyone loves a compliment, right? He's not the kind of guy to chat up other guys with his dick out, but come one, those shoes are begging to be noticed.

"Thank you," says a distinct voice, and Blaine's head snaps up so quickly from his own wingtips to one Kurt Hummel's face that he wouldn't have noticed if the singer-dancer was peeing with three dicks.

Hot Dancer, or Kurt, is looking at him with amusement, and Blaine realizes his jaw stayed down by his own toes. He quickly shuts his mouth.

"I saw them in Vogue," Blaine rambles, because what do you say when you surprisingly find yourself face to face with what could easily have been his new Masturbatory Fantasy Number 1?

"I love Vogue," Kurt Hummel shrugs, and glances at Blaine before looking at the wall in front of him again.

"You'd think a star like you would get your own wardrobe," Blaine murmurs. It's not as if he's going to see him again, he might as well make the most of this. Lucy is going to have a fit when he tells her this.

Kurt looks at him with surprise, as if he didn't expect to be recognized.

"These are actually closer than the backstage area. I drink too much water while performing," he grins shyly, and that's probably the most adorable thing Blaine's ever seen.

"I couldn't keep my eyes off of you," he admits honestly, because beer does something to his filter. It dissolves it. Besides, he loves to flirt, but hasn't had the opportunity lately. If he can say something that puts a smile on this amazing young man's face, he'll gladly make an ass of himself. Kurt Hummel will have forgotten Blaine Anderson before Blaine's begun sipping his mojito, so no harm done.

Kurt Hummel doesn't only smile pleased, but ducks his head shyly, and a blush is colouring his very characteristic cheek bones.

"Thank you," he murmurs, "that's sweet of you."

Unfortunately, he's drunk less water than Blaine's consumed beer, so he steps away from the urinal to wash his hands. Blaine wills his penis to pee faster.

"You should totally go solo, with a voice like yours. You'd make the world a much better place, creating art and making people happy just by singing," Blaine continues, and does a triumphant shake with his hips when he finally stops peeing. Kurt's thrilling laugh makes him blush, but he steamrolls on. "You're so gifted. And mesmerizing. Jesse St. James doesn't know how lucky he is to have you. You totally saved his average ass, like a… Like a prince and his very stylish white shoes," he says and looks pointedly at Kurt Hummel's footwear. "And oh my God, I've seen your precious toes!" he adds, forgetting that Kurt may have seen all of his junk.

"Are you here on your own?" Kurt asks, and is he looking worried?

"I'm Lucy!" Blaine beams, and moves to wash his hands.

"Okay," Kurt nods, as if he's genuinely accepting Blaine's statement. "Do you know how to get home, Lucy?"

"I'm not really Lucy," Blaine leans in and whispers with a giggle. He splashes water on his shirt in the process. "I'm just pretending while she's sick. Her fiancé is waiting for you guys by the exit to get her an autograph. I'm really Blaine," he grins, proud of how he's smoothly involved Kurt in their plan.

"And what are your plan after that, Blaine?" Kurt says, still calmly.

"Drinks!" Blaine beams. Colours make him happy, and he wants at least one green, one red and one blue.

"Hmm…" Kurt says. "Maybe you've had enough. What were you planning after drinks?"

Blaine turns his head away from Kurt, and stares intently at his nails. Maybe he needs a manicure soon? He scrubs under his nails, determined to wash away Kurt's question. Just the thought of the answer makes him blush.

"Hey?" Kurt smiles, and nudges his foot with his own. "I'm just trying to make sure you're safe, and has someone to take you home. Are you meeting someone for drinks? Or what will happen after your bar hop?"

"I can't tell you I was planning to go home and jerk off to crappy movie clips on my phone of you dancing!" Blaine blurts out, hoping Kurt will understand why he can't tell him. Blaine doesn't understand why Kurt is laughing, though.

"Come on, I know a shortcut to your friends," Kurt finally says, and reaches out a hand. Blaine eagerly takes it.

Kurt knocks on a plain door, and waits until it's opened by a man with a menacing-looking body and a far too amused grin on his face when he spots them.

"Finally taking advantage of the groupies, Hummel, nice one!" he laughs, and lifts a hand as if expecting a high five.

"Can it, Puck," Kurt barks, and tugs Blaine with him further down the corridor. "I'm sorry about him," he murmurs to him. "He's a friend of mine. We go back to high school, and he thinks he needs to look out for me. Which in his world includes looking out for my sex life," Kurt snorts, and Blaine giggles. At least he does for a moment, and then he thinks about other people having sex with Kurt, and he can feel his veins beginning to boil with jealousy.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks, and looks at him with concern. Blaine realizes he's tightened his fingers around Kurt's hand, and yanks his hand to himself as if he was burned.

"'m sorry you're hot," he mumbles.

"Are you sorry because I'm hot, or are you sorry about me being hot?" Kurt asks, and is he teasing Blaine? Is that a smirk on his lips and one of his eyebrows raised as if he's daring him to answer? Does that mean he's flirting back?

They've stopped walking, and Blaine sees Puck watching them as if they're a TV-show. Kurt is leaning one shoulder against the wall, and Blaine realizes his feet must be killing him after all that dancing.

"I love that you're so hot," he admits freely, because what has he got to lose? "But I'm sorry about all the unworthy idiots that get to see you."

"They're not as many as you'd think," Kurt hums, and starts walking again.

"Not so many idiots?" Blaine asks stupidly, jogging a few steps to catch up, and wow, that was an insane idea, because gravity and beer are having a fight.

"Whoa!" Kurt exclaims, and catches him. He secures an arm around his waist, and walks them safely towards an open space with couches.

"Not so many men," Kurt finally says, and Blaine needs to rewind to remember what they were talking about. "I usually don't do this either, but there's something about you. And you're wasted, gods know what would happen to you if you wandered off alone…"

He stops by one of the couches, and manages to let go of Blaine and help him sit down with more grace than is fair.

"You said your friends are waiting by the exit?"

Blaine slides further down on the couch, and nods against the headrest.

"I really, really love your shoes," he adds.

"Here, drink some water, and I'll see if I can find your friends. What are they wearing?"

"Thank you," Blaine beams, but keeps his head resting against the couch, it's so very heavy to hold up. "Clothes," he adds, remembering Kurt's question.

"Gee…"

Blaine takes a large sip from the water bottle, and closes his eyes for a moment.

When he opens them again, Jesse St. James is grinning at him.

"I'm used to a lot of stuff going on backstage, but this is a new one. Whose are you?"

"Rosario?" Blaine repeats dumbly.

"Rosario!" Jesse St. James yells, and a busty Latina Blaine recognizes as one of the dancers steps out from one of the dressing rooms. "Don't leave your trash around for anyone to stumble over."

"He's not mine," Rosario snaps back, and Blaine is beginning to wonder if he just got heavily insulted.

"Stop the shouting!" a sweet voice interrupts, and a blonde girl joins them. She's the killer dancer who Kurt danced with during the song Jesse messed up. "Ooh, he's a Tiny Dancer," she coos, and plops down on his lap. "Did you come with the fairies?" she asks him, and Blaine is trying to figure out if that was a slur and a homophobic remark. "I've been calling to the pixie dust every night to make sure the fairies can bring Kurt a boyfriend. He's been so lonely lately."

And now Blaine is trying to figure out if Pixie Dust might be an escort service.

"Goddamnit, Blaine, only you can make taking a piss into a meet and greet!" David's loud voice booms, with Wes and Janet hot on his trail.

"I took care of your boy," the girl in Blaine's lap smiles at Kurt, and hugs Blaine.

"Thank you, Brittany," Kurt chuckles, and with that the dancer leaves Blaine.

His friends have surrounded Jesse St. James for selfies, autographs and general worshipping.

"Aren't you going to join them?" Kurt asks as he sits down next to Blaine.

"No," Blaine shakes his head. "I'm not really a fan of his."

"Ooh, don't say that too loud, I don't think his ego can take it," Kurt leans in to whisper in his ear. His breath is hot against Blaine's skin, and it's all too real and too personal to be transformed to a cheap hand job on his own later tonight. But his body wants, and the alcohol in his blood does unspeakable things to his libido.

Blaine whimpers.

"Are you getting sick?" Kurt worries, "should I get you a bucket?"

He doesn't manage to answer before Kurt's called on Brittany to please get them a trash can.

And that's how Blaine finds himself sitting with his legs curled pretzel-style, bucket in his lap, water bottle in one hand, and Kurt Freaking Hummel sitting next to him talking quietly to keep him awake while his friends gush over Jesse St. James. David and Wes had offered to go straight home, but Blaine doesn't really feel sick, and said he could wait. To be honest, he quite enjoys listening to Kurt's voice. He's still plastered, but he really hopes he'll remember this tomorrow.

"You want to remember this?" Kurt asks, and oops, Blaine's must have said that out loud.

"I want to remember every second spent with you," he nods so determined he almost headbutts the bucket in his lap.

"Because I'm hot?" Kurt continues, and looks at Blaine with an odd expression.

"Umm…" Blaine says, because somehow it sounds like a trick question. "Because you have the best taste in shoes. Because you are still friends with people you met in high school. Because you sing better than anyone I know. Because you are captivating on stage. Because your eyes change colour depending on what you talk about. Because you talk almost as much with your eyebrows as I do. And because you're hot."

"How did you know I met Brittany in high school?"

"I didn't. Puck," Blaine says, hoping Kurt'll understand, because longer sentences are really tricky tonight, and he just used up a lot of words.

"Ah, yes, we met Puck. He's something," Kurt snorts. "A good friend, but a bit over-protective of me, especially ever after…" Kurt interrupts himself, and looks away from Blaine.

Blaine brushes a hesitant hand over Kurt's shoulder.

"Brittany seems sweet," he says, hoping he didn't pick the wrong words. He can be so bad at human interaction sometimes.

"She really is," Kurt says, and runs his hands over his face before he turns back to Blaine. "She got me this job, actually. Her wife convinced her to follow her passion and pursue a career in dancing, and she recruited me for this tour when she heard I was in between jobs."

"You looked amazing together!"

"Thank you!" Kurt preens. "She usually danced with Mike when our Glee club competed, nobody could outshine his moves. But I've gotten better, I'm more than just a shoulder shimmie these days," he says, and shakes his torso a little.

"I were in Glee club too," Blaine grins. "With those two," he adds, and nods at his friends being all squirrels over Jesse.

"Not the girl?"

"It was an all boys-school," Blaine nods. "And not the gay porn-variety," he finds reason to add.

"Okay," Kurt laughs. "Did you enjoy Glee?"

"No," Blaine shakes his head. "I fucking loved it!" he exclaims, and Kurt laughs again. Blaine could breathe on that sound alone.

"So, considering how high school often is, I dare you – most insane performance?"

When Blaine wakes up, he instantly knows he drank way too much last night, and somehow he ended in bed with someone if the hard body he's starfished all over is a proper hint.

"Elbow, Anderson!" he gets in warning.

"Wes?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but yes."

Blaine exhales deeply, and pillows his head back on his friend's chest. They've woken in weirder situations.

"What do you remember from last night?"

Blaine closes his eyes, and he remembers a strong jaw, he remember eyes in fifty shades of blue, he remembers a voice so pure it made his heart want to beat without oxygen on pure stubbornness, he remembers hips moving in sinful ways far away on a stage, he remembers laughter, he remembers tequila, and…

"Did we somehow perform Misery together?"

"You tried to, but you ended up kneeling next to that dancer and asking him to put you out of your misery."

"And… What did he do?"

"He sent this bodyguard-looking dude out on a Starbucks-errand."

"This headache doesn't scream coffee," Blaine whispers.

"No, that's probably more from your epic stage dive."

"I stage dived?"

"Epic, man. David got it on film."

"I don't understand…"

Wes sighs in that way he does when he has to explain something he finds obvious to a petulant Blaine.

"After you did God knows what in that bathroom with that dancer…"

"Kurt…" Blaine interrupts, and Wes snorts.

"So gone…" he mutters. "Anyway, he took us backstage as a thank you for that blowjob or whatever."

"We didn't hook up," Blaine quickly objects.

"You didn't?"

"No," Blaine says insistently, trying not to shake his head too much. "You know I don't, not ever since…" He doesn't continue, but he doesn't have to, because they both know how much Lars hurt him. "Besides, I don't think it's Kurt's style either. His friend seemed surprised he brought me backstage," he smiles dreamily. He's remembering snippets. How he ended up in Wes' bed is still unclear, but not important.

"What the hell did you do to him to get us backstage?"

"I complimented his shoes?" Blaine suggests, because that he remembers.

"So gay," Wes laughs.

"Stereotyping," Blaine smiles into his chest. "But what happened next?"

"Well, Jesse St. James invited us to stay for a few drinks, you and Kurt kept giggling on the couch about whatever, until you decided to dance on the back of the couch while singing Uptown Funk."

"We killed with that for Regionals your Senior year," Blaine hums.

"Except this time you got to change the lyrics to something more gay-propriate."

"Of course I did," Blaine sighs. "And then I stage dived?"

"Well, let's call it that, it sounds better than being a klutz who fell off the couch. We helped you up, you claimed to be fine, and right after you started singing Misery to that poor Kurt."

"And then he got me coffee?"

"He has a good head on his shoulders, that one."

Blaine groans, and Wes pats his back.

"Please tell me I didn't do anything more stupid after that."

"No, we left right after, I had to drag you into a cab after promising Kurt you wouldn't go home alone. As if I'd do that to my homeboy."

"You and I are equally gangsta'. Which means zippetidooda. Oh gosh, did I say anything to offend Lucy?"

"Would we be sleeping in my bed if you did?"

"Point," Blaine agrees.

"She was so excited about the autographed picture and personal greeting, so she offered she take the couch instead of you."

"And I'm still feeling so happy that in my generousity I've made pancakes. I assume you're staying with us for breakfast, Blaine?" a gentle voice sounds from the door.

"I wouldn't want to interfere," Blaine says lowly, still cuddled up against her fiancé.

"You could never interfere. You actually offer to do the dishes when we've eaten, unlike our man here," she nods teasingly at Wes. It's an ongoing joke between them that when she started dating Wes, she got a 2-for-1 deal which included Blaine.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, and looks at her through hungover-squinted eyes. She looks upright and less green, at least.

"I feel better than you look," she shrugs, and walks into the room with painkillers and water for the both of them.

"Marry me," Blaine groans exaggeratedly.

"I'm so sorry, baby, but he asked first," she says and pokes at Wes' shoulder. "Can I make it up to you with extra bacon?"

"Yes, please!"

"And when you make it big on Broadway, I'll consider taking you as my trophy husband. Depending on how far this one can make it as a lawyer," she grins, and sits down next to Wes. "Oh, I almost forgot, your phone has been buzzing a couple of times. I plugged it to the charger in the kitchen when you came home."

"Thank you," Blaine smiles, and forces himself to get out of bed. He's on the audition-train these days, and he doesn't want to risk missing an important call just because Lucy picked out supreme mattresses.

He opens a drawer where he knows he'll find some comfortable pants and t-shirts – he's fallen asleep during movie nights often enough to have shaken off the politeness that would normally prevent himself from being this at home outside his own home.

His stomach is growling, so he decides to postpone a shower for now, and instead roughly unpeels his wrinkled shirt to replace with Wes'.

He catches Lucy fanning herself at the sight of his bare chest, and winks at her.

"Not fair," Wes grumbles. No matter what, he just can't build the same muscles as Blaine's boxing background has blessed him with.

"No," she agrees, "it is not fair that nobody but me gets to enjoy that lovely view. If only Blaine could heal his broken heart after my rejection, and find someone special."

Blaine laughs, gulps down a few pills with the water, and hurries out to check his phone. There he has a string of unread texts.