Brought to you by a gifset of Kurt with the band during GTGYIML and a novel I read when I was like 14. I never actually did marching band, so pretend like this is accurate, okay?
Kurt didn't know what was going to happen when he was called into Figgins' office for a meeting with Mr. Schue, the Dalton band director, and Blaine Fucking Anderson, but it sure as hell wasn't this.
"No."
"Are you kidding me?"
"I'm sorry, boys, but my hands are tied!" Figgins tried to placate. "We don't have the room in our budget for a full marching band, and the enrollment in Dalton's band has dropped significantly. Our best option is to combine both bands for the competition season, or else neither school will have a band program anymore."
"But they're our biggest rivals!" Kurt said, not knowing whether he should glare at Figgins or Blaine. "They've tried to belittle us for years, and now you want us to work together?"
"We haven't just tried to belittle you, we've succeeded," Blaine cut in. "Or have you forgotten that we've gotten first place at the Buckeye Invitational for three years running now?"
"Oh, can it, Anderson, you weren't even a team member the first year that happened-"
"It's either combined bands, or no bands at all, and I know you've got scholarships riding on another winning season, Blaine," the Dalton director – Kurt didn't bother remembering his name, he wasn't important – said.
"And isn't the same true for you, Kurt? I know you want a stellar application for NYADA," Mr. Schue concurred.
Kurt and Blaine looked at each other begrudgingly, and Kurt tried valiantly to ignore how hot Blaine looked when he was pissed. "Fine," they said in unison.
"But I expect full drum major status," Blaine said.
"Excuse me, the McKinley band is bigger. Doesn't that mean I'd get to be drum major, since the majority of them will be used to my leadership?" Kurt said, voice rising in frustration.
"You'll be co-drum majors," Mr. Schue interjected. "You'll have equal time conducting, and both of you will have a say in how to organize the formations."
Before Kurt and Blaine could get into another pissing match, the bell rang.
"Practice will be here at four sharp!" the Dalton director – seriously, was he even a teacher there? - told them.
"Why here?" Blaine asked furiously as they headed out of Figgins' office.
"Their stadium is bigger, and we've got more transportation than they do," the other man explained quietly, prompting an eye roll from Kurt. Ah, yes, they have to bring their nice new equipment out here to the slums.
"Best senior year ever, am I right?" Kurt muttered to himself as he exited the room, shaking off Mr. Schue's supportive shoulder clasp along the way. He had planning to do.
"Alright, everybody, ten laps, let's go!" Blaine yelled the second all of the Dalton boys were off the bus and unloaded.
"Jesus, Anderson, not even a hello? Are you training robots or artists?" Kurt asked, walking over to the other boy. At the questioning looks from the McKinley band, he gestured for them to start stretching.
"Stamina training is important, Hummel. Brass players and the drumline need a little more than some light yoga to warm up," Blaine said, casting a judgmental glance at Kurt's well-worn Lady Gaga concert t-shirt and tight yoga pants.
"Hmm, I suppose you may have a point there," Kurt said, smirking. Blaine's hard swallow when he glanced down at Kurt's long, toned legs didn't escape him. "I guess that means I'd better get to work." He broke into a quick, bouncy jog, looking back only for a moment to see Blaine's stunned face at the sight of his ass. "C'mon, slacker! McKinley, join in the laps!"
"Already giving in to my training format?" Blaine asked, easily catching Kurt up. "I thought you dictated with a fist of iron."
"I'm not opposed to switching it up every once in a while," Kurt said. "Plus, I'll make everyone do their stretches after this, and watching you bite it because you're too busy staring at my ass to focus is going to be the highlight of my week."
"Oh, I see you don't know," Blaine said, giving Kurt a cocky smile. At Kurt's inquisitive grunt, he went on. "I usually decide to forgo my shirt after running laps, since I get so warmed up from the exercise. I've been told that it's pretty easy to pick out which incoming freshmen might have a sexuality crisis after that."
"Guh," Kurt said eloquently.
"I need to up my pace. Meet you at the fifty yard line for stretches!" Blaine said, shooting Kurt a wink before sprinting ahead. His ass bounced perkily in his tiny green shorts.
"So that's how it's gonna be," Kurt muttered, gamely jogging faster as well. "By the end of the competition season, I'm going to have you eating out of the palm of my hand, Blaine Anderson."
The first practice went about as well as could be expected. The Dalton band was clearly used to a strictly regimented rehearsal while the McKinley kids were a little more apt to break out in unchoreographed jam sessions in the middle of a drill, but they soon struck up some tentative friendships.
Blaine and Kurt, however, were still at odds weeks into the season.
"Hummel, that formation looks perfect, what are you doing?!"
"The style is so rigid I'm afraid it's going to snap instead of sliding into the next one, Bl- Anderson!" Kurt snapped, hoping he wasn't blushing too hard at his slip. "Your band has no sense of musicality!"
"Well your band is so disorganized I'm amazed they know where the field is!" Blaine shot back. "And don't think I didn't notice you almost calling me by my first name, Hummel. Daydreaming about me in your free time?"
"Yes, actually," Kurt said. "I find strangling you in my mind to be really therapeutic."
"I bet you'd love to have that good a grip on my body," Blaine said, smirking at him for the billionth time that week. "Can't say I'd be upset to return the favor, either."
"Talking about your post-set salute, boys?" Mr. Edwards, the Dalton teacher asked.
"It sounds like you're considering dipping each other," Mr. Schue said. "Which would be fitting, since our show's got a kind of Spanish tango theme."
"Uh, yeah, that's exactly it," Kurt said, trying to sound natural.
"We were just deciding who got to be on top." Blaine winked at Kurt, who gave him a death glare.
"Kurt's probably got the better flexibility of the two of you," Mr. Schue noted. "He'd probably get some great extensions if Blaine dipped him."
"What? No-" Kurt tried to protest, but Mr. Edwards and Blaine were nodding along.
"Excellent, I like it already," Mr. Edwards said. "Show us what you've got, boys."
"Yessir," Blaine said, smiling politely at the teachers before grabbing Kurt's hand and dragging him onto the field. "Ready for this, Hummel?"
"If you drop me, Anderson, I swear to Go- aaaah!" Kurt said, unprepared for Blaine to dip him mid-sentence. He recovered as quickly as possible, arching his back and kicking his front leg out in line with the rest of his body. Oh my God, he smells so good, he thought giddily. And he's so warm.
"Was that really so bad, Kurt?" Blaine asked as he hauled Kurt upright again. He kept a solid grip around Kurt's waist even after Kurt was standing straight.
"I suppose it could've been worse," Kurt allowed. "At least you're not Jacob Ben Israel with his weird, clammy hands. And who's using first names now, huh?"
"I could practically feel your boner pressing into my chest," Blaine said. "I think that means we're on first name terms now."
Kurt shoved at Blaine's chest. "Oh my God, let go of me, you perv." He broke free of Blaine's embrace and stalked back over to the bleachers. "I've got to get back to fixing your routine, Blaine."
"And I've got to get back to whipping your band into shape, Kurt. The Invitational is in three days, if you weren't aware." Blaine's teasing hadn't lightened a bit, but Kurt thought he could detect something that was almost like fondness in his tone.
"Please, I've been planning out exactly how I want to modify my uniform for a week now. Drum major perks have their bright sides," Kurt teased back. "I hope you know how to conduct your songs backwards and forwards, because I promise that I am gonna pull focus Friday night."
Kurt wasn't disappointed by Blaine's reaction to him Friday night. They all had to meet at McKinley for the bus ride down to Columbus, and Kurt, like most of the band kids, decided to come in uniform so there was one less thing to worry about when they arrived.
"Mmph," Blaine said when he saw Kurt, eyes bulging slightly.
"Told you I was bringing my A game," Kurt said, spinning around so Blaine could get the full effect of his closely fitted gray uniform pants and sequin-embellished red-and-white jacket. He'd even added a pair of epaulets to highlight the broadness of his shoulders. "You ready to crush the competition tonight?"
"What, I'm not your competition anymore?" Blaine asked, allowing Kurt to get on the bus before him. He slid into the empty spot next to Kurt at the back after Kurt chose his own seat, the other students filing on behind them. Drum majors also got first choice of seats.
"Blaine, I will fight for dominance with you until the day we graduate, if not longer," Kurt said. "But I know that we're both better than any of those other halfwit drum majors at this competition, so I'll take sharing a victory with you over losing to one of those pathetic little worms."
"I couldn't have put it better myself," Blaine said. "Wanna go over the game plan one last time on the way there?"
"If it'll keep me from having to make actual conversation with you," Kurt said. He leaned in to see the binder of charts on Blaine's lap, catching a whiff of Blaine's cologne and almost moaning as he did. They went over the formations in record time, bickering lightly and trading insults that soon turned into discussion of the movies and TV shows the insults came from.
"You did not just call me Mother Gothel because my hair's so uncontrollable!" Blaine burst out.
"I'm amazed you even know what movie that's from, Blaine!" Kurt shot back. "You're so uptight all the time that I thought you'd outgrown Disney movies before you were even old enough to appreciate them."
"I'm serious, Kurt, not a cyborg," Blaine said. "I want to go to theater school just as bad as you do, and leading the marching band to a fourth consecutive championship is what's gonna do it."
"Where are you applying to, anyways?" Kurt asked. "Am I going to have to deal with you in college, too?"
"Well, I heard Mr. Schue say you want to go to NYADA, so if I get in, too, then yes," Blaine said. "Try not to get too excited."
"Well, at least I'd already know how to sabotage one of my classmates," Kurt teased. "And that's if I get in, which is a pretty big if."
"Are you kidding me? Kurt, I've heard you singing in the showers after practice. They'd be fools to not offer you a place at NYADA," Blaine said, entirely sincere. "You're stiff competition."
"So are you, Mr. Lead of the School Play Every Year," Kurt said. "If I'm getting in, you're sure as hell getting in right behind me."
"Ooh, dirty," Blaine joked. Before Kurt could shoot a retort back at him, the bus pulled into the stadium parking lot and everyone started piling off the bus. "Let's do this thing, Kurt."
The next couple of hours passed in a blur as Kurt and Blaine got everyone checked in and lined up, dealing with instrument issues and uniform crises along the way. Kurt heaved a deep breath as the announcer called out "And now, the combined McKinley High-Dalton Academy Marching Bands, from Lima and Westerville, Ohio, featuring drum majors Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson!"
Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand as they marched out of the tunnel and onto the field, dropping it as soon as they were in full view of the audience. He waited until everyone was in place, saluted the announcer's box, and climbed to the top of the conductor's podium, feeling the familiar pre-show calm settle into place.
The set flew by in a haze of exhilaration, and before Kurt knew it, it was time for him and Blaine to run to the center of the field and give their post-set salute. They dodged their fellow band members, who were also running for their final pose, and hit their marks just as the trumpets wailed their last notes. Blaine grabbed Kurt, Kurt gripped Blaine, and they executed their dip perfectly as always.
"Oh my God, I can't wait any longer," Blaine said, soft enough that only Kurt could hear. He leaned in, boosting Kurt's shoulders and head up slightly with one arm, and kissed Kurt passionately in front of the entire stadium.
Kurt's mind fizzled. He could hear the crowd roaring dimly and some quiet gasps of shock from those of his bandmates who could actually see him and Blaine, but all he could focus on was Blaine's soft lips and how good they felt against his own. Suddenly, the world was rushing around him as he was hoisted back to standing.
"I hope that wasn't too forward," Blaine said, smiling happily as the band rushed off the field.
"Blaine, if that's not how we spend the entire ride home, I'm tossing your band shoes into the dumpster when we get back." Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine's waist. "C'mon, we've gotta go before they dock points. Our set was flawless, and I'm not letting the judges ruin it because you were horny."
"Like you didn't kiss back, Hummel."
"You started it, Anderson."
"And I'll finish it once we get our scores," Blaine said as they re-entered the tunnel.
"I'm holding you to that," Kurt teased.
"That's not the only thing you can hold," Blaine said, prompting Kurt to shove him lightly.
"Oh my God, shut up."
"Make me."
"With pleasure." Kurt pulled Blaine in for another kiss, pushing him up hard against the cement wall. They spent the next ten minutes making out pleasurably like that (and switching places at one point, which Kurt couldn't say he was unhappy about) until the directors came and shepherded them onto the bus.