Burt Hummel casually strolled through his front door, dropping his keys on the coffee table as he made his way to the stairs leading to his son's room.
Ever since his heart attack, he had been attempting to take it easy, as per the doctor's and Kurt's orders. So when he had the idea of leaving work early and taking his son out for a nice dinner at one those healthy restaurants Kurt raved about, he instantly decided to head home. Burt hadn't had a chance to spend as much time as he would've liked to with his son lately, since Kurt was always busy with school and glee and he'd been focusing on recovering. So he was excited about the idea of some quality time between the two of them.
As he opened the door to the stairs, he heard a voice. A decidedly deeper voice that definitely did not belong to his son. Then he heard Kurt giggle happily in response to whatever this other person said. Curiosity and trepidation burned in his gut as he purposefully, yet quietly made his way down the stairs.
The visage that met him made him see red. Kurt and some boy were locked in a passionate embrace on the bed, completely lost in each other. He couldn't get a good look at the punk since he had his back turned to him and was lying on top of his son. Kurt had his fingers threaded through his hair, and the punk was inching his fingers up underneath his little boy's shirt. Burt didn't know whether to go load his shotgun or get his flamethrower, but it seemed he couldn't get either because he was rooted to the spot. He could only watch as that boy had the audacity to start trailing kisses down Kurt's jaw line until he reached his neck, where he begin sucking gently. Kurt let his head fall back and closed his eyes, giving the little bastard more room to work. When his son let out a low moan at the other boy's ministrations, it tore Burt out of his shock and he decided that he'd seen more than enough.
Fury burned fiercely through his veins as he stormed the rest of the way into Kurt's room, but both boys were too involved in each other to notice his none-too-quiet entrance.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he thundered as both boys instantly sprang apart.
Burt got his first look at his son's assailant. He didn't recognize the teen at all, which didn't soothe his smoldering wrath the least bit. Some stranger was in his home, practically molesting his little boy. Said little boy was turning a gradually increasing shade of red, and was looking entirely panicked while trying to straighten his clothes.
"Dad! I-we were just…we weren't-"
His sons pleas fell on deaf ears as he advanced upon the rapidly paling teen who was beginning to look just a little bit frightened, much to his pleasure.
"What the hell do you think you're doing to my son?" He growled, speaking through tightly clenched teeth.
Kurt's eyes widened comically at his tone as he jumped to his feet and took a step closer to him, effectively blocking his direct access to the punk still perched on his bed.
Dropping his eyes to Kurt's face, which he noticed was even redder than before-and was that a hickey on his neck?-Burt leveled a strong glare at his boy before side-stepping him completely and standing directly in front of the boy.
"You have two minutes to explain yourself before I go get my shotgun."
"Dad, no! Don't-"
"Be quiet, Kurt," he ordered sternly. "I'll deal with you in a minute."
The dark-haired teen stood to his feet, looking equally shame-faced and frightened, which did little to appease his lividity. He'd like to see that boy try to get out of this one.
"Mr. Hum-"
Burt found that he didn't even want to hear whatever excuse he had to offer. Forget about excuses, he wanted some real answers. "No, you don't get to talk. I'm talking now." Burt drew himself up to his full height, squaring his broad shoulders. "Who do you think you are, coming into my house and doing-touching-my son that way? Now you talk." Crossing his arms of his chest defiantly, he dared the boy to offer an explanation.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Hummel, you were never meant to see"- he exchanged a brief look with Kurt-"that. I-this isn't...I didn't want us to meet this way," the still unnamed boy stated nervously as he ran his hand through his curls looking stressed.
Good. He needs to be stressed.
"Dad, look, it's not Blaine's fault, it's mine." Kurt's eyes searched his beseechingly and he felt himself almost give in to his son's helpless expression. Almost.
It was time for the boy-Blaine, he reminded himself-to go. He needed to have a long talk, apparently overdue talk with his son. Turning towards Kurt, he reluctantly removed his watchful gaze from Blaine. He sighed, "Kurt, it's time for your friend to go. We need to have a discussion."
"I'll just...go." Blaine stated hesitantly, as he took a step towards the stairs before stoppig and shooting a questioning look at Kurt.
Before Kurt could say anything, Burt interjected, feeling his anger thrum underneath his skin. "You don't need his permission, boy. I'm telling you it's time to go." Jaw squared, daring the boy to defy him, Burt took a threatening step towards him.
Blaine took off, pausing at the base of the stairs to shoot Kurt a meek look and quietly mumbled, "I'll text you later, Kurt", before quickly disappearing up the stairs.
We'll see about that, Burt thought to himself.
Satisfied that the little cretin was gone, Burt heaved a great sigh knowing that the upcoming conversation with his boy wasn't going to be the easiest. Steeling himself, he turned to face Kurt who was glaring at the floor, and prepared himself for what he was about to say.