Basically, one-shot based on excerpt from Miss Holliday Goes To Dalton by GlassParade.
"David heard me singing in the bathroom and all but dragged me out of the shower and to the rehearsal hall. I barely had time to put clothes on. I absolutely did not have time to do anything with my hair." He dipped his head down, and a tiny smile ghosted across his face. "I nearly throttled him when I saw where he'd brought me, but he talked me into auditioning."
But I changed a thing or two. All the better to embarrass the guy, hm? Also, I kinda destroyed her/his actually canon (can you believe it? Actually CANON Wes and David! I know, I can't either!) Wes and David in favor of fanon!Wes and David. Because I am literally incapable of writing them any other way. And I've taken parts of the Spah Universe but...*shrug* oh well. Wow. Rambly AN is rambly, I guess.
David fidgeted a little on the bed, waiting for the sounds of rushing water to stop. God, he really had to pee. But it wasn't exactly like he could just waltz into the bathroom, what with his roommate in the shower and whatnot.
Blaine was still a bit skittish around Wes and David and he doubted walking in to take a wazz while he was taking a shower would help. But still, he needed to pee. The Warblers Hall didn't have a bathroom (and David would forever curse the makers for not installing one) and he didn't trust the public ones after the Great Bathroom Incident. So, he was forced to use the only one he could get to. His dorm bathroom. Which was, quite frankly, farther than David thought his bladder could take before he just let it go in his pants.
But, he made it, and what did he find? Blaine, in the shower, with no current signs of coming out.
God, why do you hate me so? Is this some form of karma? Do I get to know what I did? That's like, one of the laws of the Constitution, right? David thought, looking at the ceiling, on which, Wes had somehow gotten a footprint on. When questioned, Wes just smiled mysteriously and answered, "I know Krav Maga." which everyone already knew anyway due to David worming it into nearly every conversation somehow.
David shifted some more. Ah, screw this. He'd just pee quietly and hope the running water would disguise him washing his hands.
He slipped off the bed and into the bathroom, closing the door quietly. The steam was stifling. Idly, lifting up the toilet cover, he wondered what would happen if Dalton ran out of hot water. Could Dalton run out of hot water?
He did his business as surreptitiously as he could, thanking god for shower curtains. His phone buzzed (thank god it was on vibration!). He elbow-tapped is way through the lock code to see a text from Wes, reminding David to bring his folder, full of agendas and logs. He made a face, resolving to look for it.
A tune started, cutting through the steam, and David instantly forgot about folders and schedules. He blinked. Was that...Blaine? If so, damn, he had a rocking voice.
"Little town,
It's a quiet village.
Everyday, like the one before.
Little town,
Full of little people,
Waking up to say,
'Bonjour'!"
David washed his hands, the spray a little above a trickle. He was torn between fondness (of course Blaine would pick Disney) and seriously contemplating murdering Blaine.
"Hah, 'I don't sing' my ass." David scoffed softly, quoting the freshman.
The singing stopped abruptly. "Who's there?" Blaine's voice sounded more frightened than it should.
Quickly, David crept next to the shower, his hand shooting into the shower. He tangled his hand into Blaine's hair and practically dragged him out.
Blaine let out a little 'Eep!', trying valiantly to grab a towel to wrap around his waist. He wondered what was wrong with David. Last time he checked, it was not normal to suddenly grab your roommate out of the shower, with said roommate butt naked. Then again, this was David. David who basically strip teased when he changed clothes, put in Wes's words.
He got the towel wrapped around his waist when a bundle of clothes hit him in the face. Navy, red, black...yeah, it was his uniform.
Without looking back, David took Blaine's tie and tied it around Blaine's neck, using that to drag Blaine toward Warblers Hall. (Well, that isn't kinky at all...)
Blaine stumbled a few times, hiding from the strange looks given to them by other students.
"Wes!" David yelled, entering Warblers Hall grandly.
Everyone's heads turned up, except for Wes, who continued looking in the drawers for something. They looked at David, unable to see the tiny figure hiding behind him. "David, toss me your folder," Wes commanded, holding out a hand.
David had to actively force himself not to frown. He hated this Wes. It was like having an evil robot version of Wes instead of fun, Team Fortress playing, ice-cream eating Wes.
Wait-folder? Shit.
"Ummm..."
Wes finally looked up and propped his forehead against his palm, gavel sticking out like a horn between two of his curled fingers. "You forgot to bring it, didn't you?"
"I... Have an excuse?" David offered.
"David," Wes sighed, "Excuses are for petulant eight-year olds."
David frowned, "Did you just call me a pouty third-grader?"
"Essentially."
Snickering rippled through the Warblers, watching the two like a tennis match, before being silenced by Wes, who shot a deadly glare at them.
Because of Wes's slightly controlling nature (as well as a significant lack of volunteer Warblers) the Warblers had handed him the job of gavel holder and chairman after a quick run-through lesson, even though he'd been a Warbler for less than a month. Once order had been restored through the quite frightening gavel-wielding-Wes (after the last Warbler Council graduated, there had been utter chaos during practices, involving many disturbing images that still plagued most of them), Thad, who had been trying to run the whole thing by himself, poor boy, became much more relaxed and less snappy. And because it was Wes and his dependency levels on David were on ridiculous levels, they handed David the secretary position because, frankly, David had wonderful handwriting.
"I have a new auditioner!" David said, sweeping his arms to the side at Blaine as he stepped to the side.
And thus, Blaine was revealed, dripping water, holding a towel at his waist, with a Dalton tie still swinging slightly, standing out against the faint mocha outlines of his abs.
"You mock us, sir!" Thad shouted, looking affronted. "We will not listen to a barely dressed student!"
"Speak for yourself..." Jim murmured, licking his lips. Lee glared at Blaine openly.
To Blaine's credit, he just schooled his face to look less like a frightened mouse and said dryly, "Would it have been too much to let me put on clothes first?"
It looked like that just dawned on David. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "Right."
"Blaine," Wes failed at not looking extremely amused. "Please be dressed to Dalton's standards and meet us back if you still wish to audition. And you," he turned a glare at David. "Get your ass up here."
"But I have to make sure he actually auditions!" David whined. When all he got was an unmoving best friend, he bargained, "I'll get you ice-cream. With sprinkles."
Wes's willpower crumbled. "Fine. But only until after Blaine auditions."
Blaine scurried off, David hot on his heels.
A second of silence. Two. Three. Warblers Hall exploded into a flurry of talking.
"Order! Order!" Wes banged his gavel in repetition. "I will have order!"
"Wes," Thad warned. "You're going to break the handle again."
Wes banged more carefully. "Quiet!" he shouted. "Every second you keep talking is an extra ten minutes after practice!"
Immediate silence.
Harry tentatively raised a hand.
"Yes?" Wes asked, nerves obviously frazzled. Being chairman was exhausting.
"Do I get to talk if I get you ice-cream with sprinkles?" the Japanese boy snarked.
"Harry! Ten minutes extra practice!"
Pratik strummed a few lines of 'Busted' idly, making Harry scowl at him.
In David's, Wes's, and Blaine's dorm room, there was a similar, if only slightly, less chaotic scene.
"What was that, David?" Blaine asked, scrounging around for his uniform.
David thumped onto his bed, stretching his arms. "Hey, dude. Have you heard yourself sing?"
"Quite so," Blaine muttered, struggling to get a pair of Dalton slacks on. "I wasn't aware my talent was to the magnitude where it was necessary that you drag me out of the shower, almost naked to audition."
"Look, dude. I just think you'd be a great addition to the Warblers. We have like, no tenors. There's no need for our favorite hobbit to get snappy."
Blaine's head disappeared behind a dress shirt and popped back out, his hair adorably fluffy looking. The look on his face was downright murderous though.
Blaine lunged at David, wrapping his fingers softly around his throat. "I. Will. Kill. You!" he snarled.
David allowed him to slam his head a few times into the bed a few times before carefully peeling the lax fingers off his throat.
"Feel better?" he asked conversationally.
Blaine paused, flipping the tie through the hole he made. "Yeah."
"Yay!" David said cheerfully. "Let's go!"
He tugged on Blaine's blazer sleeve, ruining the carefully constructed straightness of the sides and exposing more of his tucked in tie as he all but ran out of their dorm room.
When Blaine stumbled for the umpteenth time, trying to keep up with David, the taller boy swung Blaine onto his back, barely breaking stride.
"Wha...? David, put me down!"
He just giggled madly, watching Blaine's legs kick futilely.
David swerved around other students, who barely spared them a second glance once realizing David was involved in this scenario, listening to release a laugh of excitement every now and then, having given in to the insanity of David.
"We're back!" David cried, skidding into the hall.
Blaine gulped under all the expectant stares. Please don't let him slip or something...
One audition from a Mr. Blaine Anderson later, the council was slack-jawed and staring wide-eyed at Blaine.
Blaine peeked open eyes he'd shut during his performance, "What? Was I that bad?"
Wes picked up his jaw first. "Blaine," he said, smiling. "Welcome to the Warblers."
David looked alarmed, "Oh no, I know that look! Stop scheming!" He smacked the back of Wes's head.
Wes's head lurched forward momentarily, before he retaliated with a tap of his gavel on David's head. None-to-gently, either.
Wes smoothed down the non-existent wrinkles in his blazer as his best friend rubbed his head. "Whatever, David. Besides, think of all the options we have now we have another tenor."
Thad jumped in excitedly, "Ooh, we could do..."
He went off, tapping his fingers rapidly with almost every word until Wes smashed them gently with his gavel.
"Ow!" he howled, cradling his finger against his chest. "You broke them!"
"I didn't break them," Wes sighed impatiently. He paused, "...At least, I don't think I did..."
Blaine stepped up, saying softly, "I can look at them, if you want."
Thad strechted out his hand gratefully. Blaine prodded at Thad's fingers, asking every now and then if it hurt, before flexing and bending them.
"You're fine," Blaine said. "A little bruised, but fine."
Wes and David watched, fascinated. "That would have been helpful when he fell off the roof that one time," Wes remarked.
"How do you do that?" David asked, watching Blaine with child-like wonder.
Blaine failed at cracking a half-smile. "Where I come from, you get used to checking for broken bones."
Everyone immediately sobered. Wes banged his gavel loudly, "Meeting adjourned so David and I can snuggle Blaine to death! Anyone want to join?" A handful of hands went up, knowing that with Wes and David, snuggling someone to death meant watching films and excessive coffee and candy.
"Oh, and Harry?" Wes called over his shoulder. "Your ten extra minutes have been postponed, not dismissed. So stop celebrating."
Harry immediately quit his silent cheer, standing sheepishly. Pratik patted his back silently, motioning toward the pack of red and black* blazers.
"Sure," he sighed. "Come on, let's go watch Blaine get fawned to death."
In their dorms, the boys whooped and hollered, half-watching Princess Bride and Steve Martin and so many Disney films they lost count while having nerf gun wars, laughing madly as they milked as much energy out of their sugar highs before the inevitable crash.
All was well.
*I don't care what you say. Those things are fucking black.
Song choice goes to Darren Criss's cover of "Belle". If you haven't seen it, and are a fan of pre-Glee Darren (even if you aren't), stop right now. Stop. Drop everything. Go and look it up on YouTube.
You're welcome.
Blah ending. Could have been better. But I wanted to get this out of my system. Hope GlassParade is okay with the abusement (I don't care if that's not a word, the rule is: If you can spell it, it's a word. So, hah, spellcheck.) of her story. *guilty smile*
Music, out. :)