Media: Fanfic
Title: MVP
Pairings: preslash Kurt/Blaine
Ratings: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Blaine is looking for recruits, but he doesn't see Kurt. Kurt makes him see.
AN: Just posting some old work, set after Kurt transfers to Dalton, but before AVGC. Written before winter hiatus, so characters aren't as developed. (I guess you can say AU!feelings, maybe?)
Dalton has the worst football team ever.
And that's when there are enough boys who actually want to play. So when Blaine makes an announcement at the beginning of Warbler practice that the track and field (and on-and-off football) coach is looking for new recruits, he basically expects the same response as last year.
The seniors chuckling at his expense-check.
The freshman whispering, "We have a football team?"-check.
Wes rolling his eyes at the futility of Blaine's hope for recruits, banging the gavel to call practice to order-check.
Blaine sneaks a glance at Kurt, thinking he'd be the least interested in his announcement, but he was surprised to find Kurt looking straight back at him, eyes thoughtful. Blaine broke eye contact first, reeling himself in to focus on the Council's new choreography.
Still, that was...unexpected.
After practice, Kurt caught up to Blaine on the stairs.
"So, when are tryouts?," Kurt asked, his voice light as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
Blaine does a double-take, but Kurt keeps his eyes trained on the stairs as they walk towards the dining hall.
"Tryouts? For...football?"
Blaine couldn't help the incredibility that seeped into his voice.
Kurt looked up once, through his lashes, before nodding and turning his head back down. It was strange for Kurt to act so shy-this was definitely different.
"Well, uh, Coach doesn't really make us try out."
Blaine chuckled, mostly at the thought of Coach actually trying to turn people away from joining, and maybe a little bit at the thought of Kurt all geared up, adorably drowning in his shoulder pads and a too large jersey, with pants tight all up and down his legs, cupping his rear...
Blaine must have held his smile a little too long, because Kurt nudged him roughly with his elbow, glowering.
"I'm serious, Blaine. When do we have to meet up?"
They reached the end of the stairs, stopping.
"We're having practice tomorrow, around 3? On the old soccer field?"
Blaine gave a little wave of his hand, taking two steps, as if to say, 'are you coming to dinner or what?'
But Kurt had a look in his eye that said otherwise.
"Okay," he responded almost coolly, "I'll see you tomorrow then."
And Kurt turned on his heel, walking towards the dorms. Blaine could only stare at the retreating figure, wondering if he should have taken Kurt's interest a little more seriously.
Blaine couldn't believe it. Seriously.
But there was Kurt, decked out in all of Blaine's daydream glory. A white and red jersey, emphasized by his shoulder pads, and those deliciously tight white pants. Blaine never reallyappreciated a player's uniform until now.
It made the rest of the players look downright shabby, a bunch of guys in sweats more ready for gym flag football than getting a legitimate team together. The track and field and sometimes football coach looked a little less impressed. He must have taken one look at Kurt's prim stance and decided that the universe was conspiring against him or something because he was unusually gruff.
"Anyone can dress up in their brother's old uniform. Let's see what you've got kid."
The coach thrust the football into Kurt's hands, who in turn throws a glare and huffs back, "I'm a kicker, not some...thrower!"
A few of the boys chuckle good-naturedly, and even Blaine can't help but grin. Well, he still can't fault Kurt for trying out, despite not knowing any of the terminology.
Blaine stepped forward. "I'll set it up for you, ok?" He leans in and gently grasps the ball, and Kurt gives him a tight smile.
"Alright then. Let me grab my stereo and we can get started."
Kurt turned and walked towards the bench, where a silver boombox lay. The other boys murmured some questions, and Blaine was just confused. And a little sidetracked by the way Kurt was moving, but still confused.
The sound of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" did not alleviate the confusion.
But Blaine moved farther down the field and set the ball up, watching Kurt wiggle and prance and strut, building up momentum, edging closer to where he was crouching. It was both absurd and embarrassingly endearing. Blaine was holding back his laughter, right up until Kurt sashayed into a perfect kick. Then-
Oh.
Oh.
Wow.
The football was landing somewhere in the next county, the sometime coach was looking at Kurt like he was the second coming of Christ, and the other boys had gone silent in absolute awe. And Blaine?
Still trying to process looking at Kurt's mile long leg, flexible and strong and high enough that Blaine can make out the smooth curve of Kurt's ass. It comes coupled with flushed cheeks and a proud smirk. And when Kurt looks down at Blaine, triumph blazing in his glasz eyes, Blaine can't help but think that Kurt will be a valuable asset, both on the field and in his fantasies, because damn, this boy was definitely going to be their MVP.
He can't wait to give Kurt some star treatment, either.