"In Which Kurt Takes Advice From A Diva"
a oneshot by paundromat
READ ME: This started as an idea from my dearest, darlingest fellow Klaine whore, BeRightThere. And I wanted to take a short break from my multi-chapter fic, Welcome to the Bright Lights (check it out!), so I decided to elaborate on BeRightThere's idea and turn it into a oneshot. And yes, they really are singing "Cater 2 U", one of the most degrading songs in the history of ever. Read! Review! Story Alert! Etc.!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee, obviously.
Kurt felt the smooth surface of his iPhone, which was currently sitting at the bottom of his brand-new Marc Jacobs leather messenger bag, emanating occasional beeps and buzzes as all of the incoming text messages from people who weren't Blaine Anderson were purposely ignored, dogpiling on top of one another. But even that heap of text messages was dwarfed by the single most commonly sent one:
Courage —Blaine
And it wasn't that Kurt was bitter or hard-to-reach or a hermit, God no. But ever since he met Blaine, all of those other text messages, the meaningless "hows dalton?(:"s and the overly repetitive "missing you at mckinley D:"s couldn't hold any number of candles to Blaine's simple words that were somehow jam-packed full of underlying themes and implications.
Themes and implications that really didn't make any sense, Kurt realized, since Blaine had gotten himself far, far too caught up in serenading Random GAP Employee #2 during an impromptu performance of "When I Get You Alone" at the aforementioned store a week before.
So yes, Kurt was sitting (read:alone) in the Junior Commons, looking morbid as hell.
He didn't even know how he managed to grit out the harmony to "When I Get You Alone". Did he actually make any noise at all? He was certain that he felt his lips moving in time with the rest of the Warblers, but the rest of him was rendered so shell-shocked by Blaine's excessively flamboyant advances that he could have been screaming out a chorus of obscene swear words and he wouldn't have noticed.
The swear words part was impossible, though. Wes would have noticed, and Thad would have had him kicked off of the Dalton Warblers because of allegedly "wild" behavior.
So it was a surprise to Kurt, really, when he found himself yanking his iPhone out of his bag and scrolling through his contacts with a palpable fury. Amy, Artie, Axel, Blaine, Brittany, Burt...
Rachel.
Rachel of the Berry variety.
And when Kurt plucked up the moxie to actually let his thumb hit the cool glassy surface of his phone's "call" button, he was pretty sure that he had hit rock bottom. He had hit rock bottom, definitely, and he had hit it damn hard.
"This is Rachel Berry. If you're a talent scout, may I please redirect you to my work line? Six-zero-five-seve—"
"Rachel!" Kurt snapped, resisting the urge to chuck the innocent phone into the lazily-burning fireplace that let out small sparks and crackles every so often.
"Oh, Kurt. You're not a talent scout," Rachel said in disappointment, her voice instantly losing its sense of important urgency.
"Yeah, well, no," said Kurt, briefly forgetting why exactly he had decided to call Rachel in the first place.
"Well, how are you doing? Is Dalton treating you well? I'd ask you about Regionals, and how rehearsals are going, but I wouldn't want to be accused of being a spy."
"I'm...well, I'm fine, and Dalton's treating me pretty decently, since it doesn't have any lockers that I can get pushed against. And yes, we're keeping the details about Regionals on the D.L.," Kurt replied drily, taking a moment to pick off few pieces of lint that had transferred from the couch to his red-and-navy blazer.
Rachel sighed contentedly on the other line and continued with a, "That's good to know, I guess."
Kurt waited a moment, knowing what was coming next.
"Wait, this is wholly unlike you, Kurt, to just call me randomly like this. What's wrong?" Rachel asked confusedly. Kurt could almost picture her face falling dramatically in the tradition of every other Broadway diva before her.
"It's Blaine," Kurt blurted out without thinking.
"Blaine?" Rachel repeated slowly. "The one with the hair..and the eyebrows...the Dalton soloist...that Blaine?"
"Is there any other?" Kurt demanded acerbically.
"No."
"Then yes, that Blaine. Blaine Anderson."
"What about Blaine Anderson, then?" Rachel asked timidly, evidently fearing what was coming next.
"This is a really, really long, complicated story," Kurt said lamely as he ran a hand through his drooping bangs.
"I've got time," Rachel told him confidently. Actually, she really did; she was sitting alone in her room, pining away for one Finn Hudson.
"You've dated someone I've had feelings for," Kurt began reluctantly.
Rachel's overly inflated head snapped up from her pillow. "You can't have him!" she whined.
"Calm down! He's my brother!" Kurt massaged his temples in frustration.
"Since you've had experience with my past flames," Kurt continued pressingly, "I was wondering..."
"Mm-hm?"
"What'syourideaoftheperfectdate?"
Rachel cocked her head to the side in confusion. "Sorry, what?"
"Your idea. Of the perfect date. What is it?" Kurt reiterated, slower this time.
Rachel chewed a little bit on her lower lip and sank down onto her pillow, propping her chin up with the heel of her palm.
"I'm a star," she pointed out.
Kurt let out an exasperated sigh. "I know that, Rachel."
"A perfect date? That would consist of a moonlit, one-hundred-percent Kosher meal followed by a romantic serenade by the sunset..."
Kurt shook his head. "Rachel, you just created a time paradox, you can't have a romantic dinner by the moonlight and then have Finn sing to you as the sun goes down, it's impos—"
Rachel interrupted him, her imagination getting the better of her. "But, of course, Finn knows of my stardom and, being the perfect boyfriend, he wouldn't encroach upon my bright future. So..."
"So what?"
"He'd give me the lead solo in his serenade!" Rachel squealed happily, jumping up and down a little bit on her bed. Kurt pulled away form the phone just a little bit when he heard the squeaking of the bed springs, garbled through the phone line.
"What?"
Rachel shook her head impatiently. "You're not getting this, Kurt. He'd serenade me but give me the lead in the song."
"No, Rachel, that doesn't make any sens—"
She smirked knowingly. "You want to impress Blaine," she told him slyly.
Kurt's cheeks flushed on cue. "Who told you that?"
"You did."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"What song?" Kurt asked, his voice faltering a little bit.
Rachel shrugged. "That's for him to decide. Preferably something that expresses all of the things he would do for me, since he loves me so much."
Kurt's eyes narrowed, and he forgot that Rachel was just on the phone with him, and wouldn't be able to see.
"You're going to sing lead in a serenade to yourself that you don't know the lyrics or music to," Kurt repeated, an obvious strain in his voice.
"Yes," Rachel replied promptly with a slight giggle.
Kurt rolled his eyes. "That's batshit insane."
And all that Rachel could say to that one was, "That's showbiz."
"No, really. That's insanity," Kurt countered tiredly.
"Listen, Kurt," Rachel said. "Blaine and I have one thing in common: an intrinsic love for solos."
"So you think this is going to work?" Kurt asked dubiously.
"Yup," Rachel concluded, popping her lips on the 'p'.
So that was how Kurt found himself locked inside his dorm room alone for eight hours straight, working out the melody and lyrics of the song that Blaine was going to serenade himself with.
Blaine wasn't one of those people who particularly relished trampling on Kurt Hummel's hopes and dreams like a large, steroid-infested giant.
But you can imagine his utter confusion when he walked into the deserted Senior Commons to find an utterly miserable Kurt sitting alone at a table that was laden with chicken-spinach-orange salad and little finger sandwiches, the cover of the shiny black grand piano open and a large, fancy embroidered cloth draped over it artistically.
"Hey, Blaine," said Kurt as he poked at one of the candelabras that adorned the dining-table.
Blaine grinned at him. "Hey, I got your text..."
Kurt chuckled. "Of course you did, that's our standard means of communication, it seems."
Both of them reveled in the awkwardness of that specific moment.
"...why did you need me down here?" Blaine asked, pocketing his phone and sitting himself down on the chair opposite from Kurt's. "And, uh, nice sandwiches."
"Thanks," Kurt said ruefully. "You can have some, if you like."
Blaine's thick eyebrows shot up, and he delicately picked up a chicken-walnut sandwich and lifted it to his lips. He took a small bite and decided that yes, the sandwich was just as good as he thought it was.
Kurt gave him a small smile and added, "It's kind of a date sort of thing, isn't it?"
Blaine swallowed a bite of sandwich. "Kind of?"
Blaine wasn't going to lie to himself. The situation was awkward.
"I have a song for you!" Kurt exclaimed suddenly, sidling on over to the grand piano and flipping open a few pages of wrinkled sheet music.
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"Let's hear it, then."
"Take these," said Kurt proudly, giving a very confounded Blaine the pile of sheet music. He didn't grab onto them on time, so the pages fluttered to the ground before Blaine ducked down and nabbed them hastily.
Blaine stood there for a long minutes, staring at Kurt, and then staring at the music.
"Um, what?" he questioned, shaking the sheaves of paper in his hands. Kurt's eyes followed the gesture and watched as the distinct shapes of the notes became blurry.
"I know how much you love Destiny's Child," Kurt explained hastily, scratching the nape of his neck sheepishly. "You know, 'Bills, Bills, Bills', and all?"
"So you got me..." Blaine examined the papers again. "You got me the sheets to 'Cater 2 U'?"
Kurt nodded eagerly. "To sing."
Blaine looked absolutely mollified. "To sing to who?" he inquired, fingering the lapel of his blazer.
"To yourself, maybe?" Kurt suggested, making strange hand gestures as he did so. "You love solos. Especially ones at the GAP."
"Well, yeah, I guess, but this is kind of—"
Kurt groaned in defeat and plopped his elbows on the keys of the grand piano, which proceeded to let out a gross, terrible sound.
"This was supposed to work, I'm definitely going to kill Rachel..." Kurt mumbled to the piano keys, which, being inanimate, had nothing to say to him in return.
Blaine's head whipped around to face Kurt, and he slammed the sheet music to the top of the piano. "What about Rachel?" he demanded.
Kurt shrugged, rendered blase by the recent turn of events. "She told me that she would be impressed by a serenade from her significant other wherein she sings the lead," he explained.
One of Blaine's triangular-shaped eyebrows shot up to his curly hairline. "Okay, that just made no sense whatsoever," he hedged.
"She says that she's a star. So when someone serenades her, she said that she'd rather just sing lead. To herself," Kurt continued, head still resting on the piano keys. Blaine slid himself onto the bench and patted Kurt's shoulder gently.
"Hey," he said. "Rachel's kind of insane."
"Rachel? I'm kind of insane."
"Well, yeah, clearly, since you listened to the advice of a psychopathic diva."
Kurt's head shot up from the keys. "Excuse me?" he asked adamantly.
Blaine's lips turned up in a huge grin. "There we go!" he exclaimed, taking it upon himself to personally yank Kurt off of the piano bench and into a standing position.
"Blaine!" Kurt complained, his knees going a little weak so that he almost sagged to the floor.
It was alright, though. Blaine propped him up for a few seconds, just until Kurt was able to stand up by himself.
Blaine was still smiling ear-to-ear. Kurt shot him his best "bitch, please" expression, but that failed epically, so he settled with his trademark "Hummel" expression, complete with pursed lips and agitated, perfectly arched eyebrows.
"I can't serenade myself," Blaine said, crossing his arms over his Dalton blazer.
"That much I figured," Kurt said darkly, humming out a slight laugh.
"I can serenade a person, though," Blaine said, to no one in particular. "Hm. Wonder who I can serenade..."
Kurt scowled, which only made Blaine laugh a little harder.
"Hey, I know," Blaine mused reflectively. "I can serenade you, Kurt."
Kurt's eyes instantly widened at that. He couldn't deny that he found the idea extremely attractive—but when exactly had the tables been turned?
"I don't think that's a good ide—" Kurt started before realizing that Blaine wasn't exactly standing right next to him anymore.
No, no.
Blaine Anderson had swiftly sat himself down at the piano and was tapping out the opening strains of "Cater 2 U" with his long, long fingers that swept over each key like water on the shoreline.
Kurt tried to stop waxing poetic, and instead directed his attentions to what Blaine was singing, and how he was singing it.
"Baby I see you workin' hard
I wanna let you know I'm proud
Let you know that I admire what you do—
don't know if I need to reassure you,
My life would be purposeless without you
If I want it
when I ask you
you inspire me to be better,
you challenge me for the better
Sit back and let me pour out my love letter..."
Blaine's eyes danced waggishly and he took a short pause in singing, his finger continuing to sweep over the keys. "This is a nice arrangement, Kurt," he remarked.
Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, well, it is me you're talking about here."
"Sing it with me," Blaine pleaded, the tinkling notes of the piano continuing relentlessly.
"I can't. It's not in my range, I wrote it for you to sing," Kurt insisted, backing away slowly from the piano.
Blaine rolled his eyes. "You can totally sing this."
"No."
Blaine gave a little pout. "Please? Pretty ple—"
"Let me help you
Take off your shoes
Untie your shoestrings
Take off your cuff-links
Do ya wanna eat boo
Let me feed you
Let me run your bathwater
Whatever you desire...I'll supply ya
Sing you a song, turn my game on
I'll brush your hair... put your do-rag on
You want a foot rub
You want a manicure
Baby I'm yours I wanna cater to you, boy..."
"Happy?" Kurt told Blaine in annoyance once he had finished singing. "There, I helped you sing the one song that demonstrates the stereotype that states women were devised solely to aid men and assist them; oh my God, this was a terrible song choice..."
Blaine ignored Kurt and continued with the song.
"You cut out Kelly's part," he observed after a perfect rendition of the song's chorus.
"Good eye," Kurt replied gruffly.
"I liked that part."
"I wasn't going to have you sing to yourself with lines about 'rocking the hottest outfits'," Kurt articulated.
"The Dalton uniforms are pretty hot," Blaine said defensively, popping the starched collar of his button-down shirt. It was so stiff that it didn't really pop at all—it just kind of flipped up and then snapped back into pristine position.
Kurt drummed his fingers against the piano, dismissed Blaine's previous comment, and began to sing the next verse.
"I wanna give my breath,
my strength,
my will to you
That's the least I can do
let me cater to you
Through the good,
the bad,
the ups and the downs
I'll still be here for you
let me cater to you...
Kurt paused and wrestled a little bit with his body, which seemed to want him to be blushing at that particular moment. Blushing was not good, especially when singing to someone like Blaine. But Blaine seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and joined in on the second half:
"'cause you're beautiful
I love the way you are
fulfill your every desire
Your wish is my command
I wanna cater to my man
Your heart,
so pure your love shines through
the darkness we'll get through
So much of me is you
I wanna cater to my man..."
"This song is so much gayer than I thought it would be," Kurt muttered as Blaine flipped the page of sheet music over and resumed playing.
"I kind of like it," Blaine said.
"I think I know that," Kurt chortled. "But it's ridiculously cheesy and kind of slave-like, don't you think?"
"Dunno, it kind of fits," remarked Blaine with an absentminded smirk. Kurt scowled back at him.
"Let me cater to you
Cause baby this is your day
Do anything for my man
Baby you blow me away
I got your slippers,
your dinner,
your dessert,
And so much more...
Anything you want
Let me cater to you.
Inspire me from the heart
Can't nothing tear us apart
You're all I want in a man
I put my life in your hands
I got your slippers,
Your dinner,
Your dessert,
and so much more...
anything you want, I want to cater to you..."
As the sounds of the piano eventually trickled away, Blaine let out a low hum of approval.
"Ridiculously homosexual, but still kind of nice," he mused.
"You don't have to pretend you like it."
"But I do!" Blaine interjected childishly.
"You don't."
"Do too."
"Do not!"
Blaine stopped his words in their tracks and looked straight up at Kurt.
"The feelings behind it were there, though, weren't they?" he inquired cryptically as he held the sheet music out for Kurt to take.
"N-no!" Kurt sputtered, snatching the sheet music away from Blaine as soon as he could.
Blaine stood up from the piano bench abruptly. "See you at dinner, Kurt," he said calmly, brushing his hands against his charcoal-gray slacks and exiting the Senior Commons.
Kurt's posture crumpled and his hands dove into his bag, searching for his iPhone.
To: Rachel Berry
I am never taking dating advice from you, ever.
Kurt tried to ignore the buzzing alert of the new message that appeared two minutes after.
"Rachel," he gritted out as he opened the new text message.
From: Blaine Anderson
I thought about it. My idea of the perfect date is singing a terribly cheesy romantic song with my significant other. (: Not that it matters, of course.
But it did.
It mattered so much.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed, Paundromat out! Don't forget to drop me a line via review, especially lines regarding my awkward song selection...;)