Chapter Warning: Internalized Homophobia
"Good morning, Blaine." Kurt's smile was bright enough to light the kitchen that Blaine was finishing up his breakfast in. Blaine watched his roommate come into the front door when he should have been sleeping in his own room. Kurt's expression was all about relaxation that could only come from good sex or 50% off Louis Vuitton.
"Did someone have a good night? I worried when you weren't home."
"Ah, you know. I went places," Kurt said meticulously adding just enough carelessness to his voice to convince about his absence not being a big deal. He sat by the kitchen table and smoothed the tablecloth with Mona Lisa smile plastered on his face. "Met people," he added quietly.
"Met people..." Blaine motioned with his spoon for Kurt to continue. He hadn't seen that expression since the early honeymoon phase of their relationship back in high school. "Anyone special?"
Kurt cleared an invisible scrap from the table with a flick of a finger. The first time Blaine admitted to having a new sweetheart was preceded by a lot of humming, mumbling and reassurance about lifelong friendship. It was as if Blaine surmised that information might unravel the bond between them. And he was right. Kurt never told him that out right, of course, never really allowed himself to think about it, but seeing Blaine with other people made him feel... defeated. Replaceable. The break up was final and Kurt couldn't pretend anymore that they were on a break. Instead, he had to smile and kindly decline invitations for double-dates, find ways to sneak out of his own apartmentwhenever Blaine had a "movie night" and finally, wipe away tears and placate Blaine's disappointment while squashing his own.
He was surprised to notice that his replacement was quite quickly replaced too. Blaine didn't have much problem with getting on with people and gave Kurt plenty of opportunities to get used to the new dynamic. It seemed so casual for others, to just meet a person and become their world that sometimes Kurt wondered if there was something wrong with him for not being capable of the same.
"Yes. He is," Kurt looked up to gauge the reaction, searching for a spark of jealousy in Blaine's eyes. "We had lovely time together."
Blaine smiled warmly. He worried about Kurt's descent into single life. He knew the diva was particular about dating and more than a little high maintenance, but Blaine truly wished Kurt would find someone to help him smile again. He leaned his chin on his palm and flashed that grin. "Don't hold out on me, Kurt. Tell me all about the man who put a skip in your step."
Kurt straightened on his seat, a wider smile pulling at the edges of his lips. "I don't really know that much about him," he said and bit his lower lip, the lack of knowledge about his new darling playing havoc on his morals. "We didn't really have time to talk...," he said ingenuously.
"Kurt... are you telling me you had a one-night stand?" Blaine's eyebrows rose right into his gelled hairline. "Of all of the Divas from Lima I would have never imagined you'd take up that kind of entertainment." Blaine's tone was warm. He could remember the judgemental snipes Kurt had taken about Blaine's dating habits not too long ago. It used to be their weekly ritual.
"Well, it's not a one-night stand if you're going to come back, yes?" Kurt couldn't keep the combative note out of his voice.
"Not that there's anything wrong with a one-night stand if you were safe." Blaine hated the lecturing tone that snuck into his voice, but nowadays it was basically a given. Kurt's voice, while lovely, took on a very special quality that Blaine compared to a dog whistle. It sent tension up his spine and no matter the topic, Blaine felt like every word was a condemnation of his freer lifestyle.
"Of course I was safe," Kurt snapped, all too well reminded about his surprise when David wanted to use condom during fellatio. His inexperience colored his cheeks with embarrassment.
"Kurt..." Blaine sighed, a hand smoothing at his temples to try to calm himself. This was turning into a fight. He didn't understand how everything turned into a fight! Being broken up was supposed to fix their friendship, not make it harder. "I'm happy for you. I have to get to class."
Kurt's face fell. "Blaine...?" That's all? All you have to say about the ex-love-of-your-life getting off with other man? Kurt caught his eyes when the boy turned back to him. "Have a nice day," said the ice cap immune to global warming of Blaine's friendship.
Blaine took his cereal bowl to the sink and rinsed it, trying to gather himself. "Let me know when you are ready to introduce him around. I'd like to meet the man who made you smile. I don't think I've seen that grin since High School." Blaine offered the olive branch, hoping that Kurt knew how much he wanted to keep their friendship.
"I will. We could got out or whatever. You'd like him," Kurt smiled lightly.
***
"I'm here! Sorry, Mr. Lawson decided that class needed to run over time for the world most boring Mid-Term review." Dave punched his time-card into the old fashioned clock before sticking it back in it's holder.
Dave's muscles relaxed as the scent of sugar and flour floated over his senses. His job was hard, don't get him wrong. There was nothing more frustrating than trying to juggle customer orders when they wanted details on the shape and texture of the frosting that was physically impossible. The work was physically intense and you never got to sit down. But it was worth it.
Dave always came home with items, left over mini-cakes, cancelled orders that were already mixed, expired loaves of sweetbread, and anything else that they couldn't technically sell anymore. Dave figured he worked off what he took in at hockey practice and at the on-campus gym.
He came over to the order list hung from the pinboard on the east wall of the kitchen. "What's the damage like today?"
His boss, a white-clothed elderly hulk of a man, peeked from over a pile of papers clipped together at the edge. "Can he not read himself?" The man gruffed and went back to mutter the text he was reading, growling occasionally at the juridical gibberish he was trying to decipher, but all he understood from it was what he already knew: one of his subcontractors bankrupted before paying off debts. The man scratched the remains of his hair violently.
Dave frowned at the tone and moved on over to the desk. "Damn that's one big pile. You want me to try and help? I bet you can make the cakes faster while I try to organize this mess."
The man looked up and narrowed his eyes, ready to snarl at the assumption that he needs help. The deftly intertwined appreciation was enough to mitigate. "Well," the man dropped the file on the table. "You wouldn't be much help with the toffi torte anyway."
Dave made way for the wide baker before taking up his seat. For a man of his boss's size he always sat in the tiny most awkward of chairs. Dave wiggled a little to keep the far left slat from digging into his hip before diving into the paperwork. He didn't raise his head from making notes and itemizing cost and expense charts until a hand was in front of his face with a lop-sided creme puff. "Oh... food. Thanks. Is it diner break already?"
The man huffed and mumbled before spitting out, "I didn't want it to go bad. So you can eat if you want or not." Dave recognized the batch from yesterday's display. The saucer with generous piece landed with a loud thumb next to the papers. The clumsiness seemed to left his boss only when he leaned over the pastry board. "Anything forward with this? "
Dave knew the gruff offer for the generosity it was. He stuffed the cream puff into his face, eating it in seconds flat. He let himself have a moment for the happy little moan that the sugar treat always earned. "Yeah, actually. So if I'm reading the bankruptcy paperwork right, you can submit a claim so that whatever money they do get from your sub-contractor they will give you a portion of it. It's not all of what they owe, but it's something to at least offset the debt. Also, I started on tallying your supplies. When was the last time you did a full inventory?"
The man hmpf'd for a moment. "Ah, it will be maybe seven months or so."
"Wow. You're really not good at anything but baking are you?" Dave knew he was being a cocky little shit so he flashed a grin. "I can pick up an extra shift on Monday after the main shop shuts down and start updating your records."
"You have nothing better to do than wear down your eyes over musty papers?" The man's voice was unpleasant as usual. He sniffed looking at the file as if it was a lair of bugs. "You'll stay God-knows how long and then you'll sleep on your lecture."
"I'll pace myself. I'm taking business as my major. It's like an internship. I promise to set an alarm and leave on time." He put up two fingers. "Scout's honor."
The man's shoulders sagged as he acknowledge there was no other way but to accept the help and start working on the neglected paper work. "Nu, just you remember to not leave the lights on for the night. The electric bills are already high as they are." The man's mumblings drifted off as he walked back to the stove.
And if Dave didn't know him better, he'd say he saw his boss smile.
***
Dave tossed his work shirt at the laundry basket. He's worked longer than he meant to as he went through the massive inventory project. Tonight was just organizing how to fix the neglected inventory. He glanced at the clock. It was 11pm.
If Dave wanted to, he could rinse down from the bakery scent, leave the days growth of beard on, and jump into some blue jeans and a undershirt, and hit the club. If he worked fast, he could get a guy back up to the room by 1am and fuck him hard and fast before kicking the guy out and getting a few hours sleep before the singer in # 627 started up.
Dave grumbled, a hand scratching at the hair over his small paunch. Fucking neighbours never let him just sleep the fuck in. He had an afternoon class so in the morning he could sleep until 11am if it wasn't for the loud mouthed twink... the loud mouthed twink who had passed out on his cock.
A low chuckle filled his apartment. HE won the bet! No more morning wake-ups from Broadway hopefuls or domestic cat fights from the fag couple down stairs. Jut Dave and his bed and deep restful sleep. Life was good.
He shucked the pants and settled himself into bed. The bet only lasted three months, so he might as well get as much rest and relaxation as possible. Thank you, Tootsie. Maybe once those three months were up he could tempt the slut in disguise into the same bet. Sounded like a full proof plan. Dave fell asleep with the smear of cum on his stomach from imagining whatever-his-name-was with the innocent eyes, falling apart around his cock.