Title: It's An Art (And We're Artists)
Warning: Some swearing, absolute lack of ethics, sexualisation of teens, possible OOCness. Also Sandy.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: I don't own it and I'm not making any money from it, this is pure entertainment and not intended to offend.
Things you need to know:
-In this world babygate never happened because Puck wasn't there in Lima.
-Burt is Kurt's brother, not his father.
Notes: I don't know a single word of Spanish, so for this chapter you can assume that when a character speaks in itallics ["blah"] they're speaking in Spanish.
Kurt went to school that morning with Puck's midnight voicemail ringing in his ears. 'I am fucking in.' The sole sum of the message, totally meaningless to anyone who didn't know what was going on. Kurt knew what it meant and promised himself that he'd step up his game. Time was in short supply. He needed Schuester hooked yesterday so they could get this over with and get the hell out, to a better town and a better payoff – one they'd actually get to see.
Kurt hurried up the stairs, half way to the school's entrance before he was accosted by a cluster of girls in red and white. "I'm not interested, ladies, "he said, throwing on his best gay-boy voice for extra effect. "But if you're looking for tips on how to improve that very amateur makeup then I'm sure I can find some time."
"We heard a rumour," a brunette piped up, ignoring his comments, "that you're getting it on with Mr. Ryerson."
"Unfounded, disgusting, and false," Kurt stated immediately, pushing his way through the cluster. As he walked down the hall he clearly heard Quinn's voice calling after him.
"We'll be praying for you, Kurt."
"Pray I don't come back just to bankrupt your daddy," Kurt muttered under his breath.
He put the incident from his mind long enough to get to his first class. As soon as he was sitting at his desk he started mulling over the implications. Rumours circulating already meant that his window of time was decreasing fast. He had a week at best before someone actually investigated, maybe less. And on top of that there was obviously someone at the source of the rumour, someone who either disliked him enough to claim that he was sleeping with the creepiest adult on staff or who had reason to believe it was actually true.
The culprit became clear almost immediately. Rachel, the diva from the glee club. The issue was also easily solved and he resolved to corner her as soon as possible. Now that he'd been to Ryerson's house the club was unnecessary, Rachel could have it. Kurt had bigger things to think about. Like, for example, using some of the phrases he'd googled last night when he was next alone with Mr. Schuester.
As luck would have it today's schedule meant that Spanish fell just before lunch, which gave Kurt the perfect opportunity to drop one of his suggestive phrases. He made sure he was the last out the door, a slightly suggestive compliment rolling from his lips on the way out. They were supposed to meet in the library for another private tutoring session in just fifteen minutes. Kurt hoped that Mr. Schuester wouldn't have had time to think up a proper, appropriate response before then.
He used his fifteen minutes wisely and tracked down Rachel Berry. He found her by her locker, sidled up, and stated firmly; "Rachel, we need to have a chat."
At first she looked as if she were going to protest, to stick her nose in the air and declare that she had no idea what he was talking about. A glimpse at the sudden steel of his blue eyes changed her mind. Rachel flicked her hair back from her shoulder. "What do we need to chat about exactly?"
"Glee," Kurt replied casually, raising a hand to examine his nails. "I want you to know you can have it. I'm going to be dropping out. I feel it's better to not sing at all than to stay and listen to more nasty rumours."
She looked caught, but doesn't have the grace to look sorry about it. "Well," she says, "I'll be sorry to see you go."
She won't, he knows. He smiled at her anyway. "I'm sure you will."
He left her there in the hallway in favour of arriving early at the library. He sat down at the table in the tiny study room, legs crossed, tapping his fingertips gently against the tabletop. He didn't have to wait too long for Mr. Schuester to arrive, clutching a textbook and a couple of loose sheets of paper.
Kurt uncrossed his legs and sat up properly in his chair, greeting the teacher with the most musical pronunciation he could get away with.
Mr. Schuester's response sounded distracted. He took a seat on the other chair and set the textbook and papers down in front of him. "Kurt, I think we need to have a talk."
"A talk about what, Mr. Schuester?" Kurt replied in Spanish, pleased that his crash course seemed to be improving his fluency quite quickly. He'd been doing extra study in the evenings before bed, practicing aloud in the basement after his brother had gone upstairs to sleep. He was hoping that he'd be good enough so that when, or if, the teacher acknowledged all of Kurt's subtle flirting they'd be able to have the conversation in Spanish.
Like he'd hoped, Mr. Schuester replied in the language he taught; "I need to be sure you understand some things. Important things that I'm not sure anyone has spoken to you about."
"What things?"
"Kurt, you know that I'm your teacher."
"Yes."
"You know that I'm married."
At that, Kurt put on his very best imitation of youthful innocence and confusion. "I don't understand."
"Married," Mr. Schuester repeated in English. "Kurt, I'm married."
Kurt shook his head, frowning at the other man. "I understand the words. I don't understand why you want to talk about that. Is there a problem to do with me? Your – I don't know the right tense – married?"
Mr. Schuester hesitated, hands hovering above the loose papers on the table. Every little bit of his body language was saying that he was tense, uncertain. Out of his depth.
"Is it because I'm... I don't know the word in Spanish." Kurt bit his bottom lip. "Gay? Are you uncomfortable teaching me, Mr. Schuester? I understand, if you are. You're not the first teacher to... to have issues with me. If you don't want to teach me anymore, I can..." Kurt took a deep breath, blinking his eyes rapidly as if consciously trying to hold back tears. "I can study at home," he finished. "Or switch to a different elective. It's not a big deal for me. It happens all the time."
He looked down at the tabletop, secretly wishing he could keep his eyes on the other man without making it obvious that he was watching for tells in his body language. Kurt needed to make it look like he was hiding his upset. Upset people didn't stare expectantly.
The room was silent for what felt like a long time. Then finally, slowly, Kurt heard the scrape of chair legs against the floor. He could see it in his peripheral vision as Mr. Schuester inched around the table until he was close enough to put a hand on Kurt's shoulder.
"No," he said finally, fingers squeezing gently through Kurt's designer jacket. "No, I don't have a problem with you and I'm not asking you to transfer. I wouldn't want to lose my number one student." There was a slight change of tone in that last sentence, as if Mr. Schuester were trying his best to introduce a little humour into the conversation.
Kurt knew what was expected of him. He laughed softly, just once. "Thankyou," he said. A pause, and Kurt very slowly, very carefully raised a hand to touch Mr. Schuester's fingers where they rested on his shoulder. "That means a lot to me."
The silence was back. A pregnant pause, like the whole room was holding its breath, tension weighted in the air.
The hand didn't pull away, but stayed there on Kurt's shoulders. Kurt kept his hand where it was too, fingertips barely brushing against Mr. Schuester's knuckles. He could hear the other man breathing. Slowly, deliberately, the Spanish teacher's fingers moved, raising a little to brush against Kurt's in a caress. Kurt replied with a gentle, deliberate stroke. Somehow, Kurt was sure he didn't initiate it, their fingers tangled together, linked on top of Kurt's shoulder and hidden from view where Mr. Schuester was blocking the window.
"You're the best student in your year," Mr. Schuester stated, a little too softly.
"I like learning." Kurt took his cues from the other man, voice soft, hesitant like he hadn't said the same thing to other men before. "I want to impress you."
"Kurt..."
The bell rang, startling them both. Kurt cursed silently in his head. He had so little time to work with as it was, now he ran the risk of the other man coming to his senses between now and the next time they were alone. Mr. Schuester's fingers slipped from his, the teacher scooting away back to the other side of the table where he could pick up his things again. He smiled at Kurt from across the table, like he wasn't really sure what he was doing.
"I'll see you in class," he said, stopping briefly in the doorway to remind Kurt; "Same place tomorrow."
The progress, Kurt thought, was more than worth being five minutes late. He weighed the risks against the potential payoff and casually slipped his phone under the desk to send a text to Puck. Time was of the essence. It only needed to look consensual from the outside, just a bonus if it actually was. He received a reply a few minutes later. Puck would be there, waiting, ready to capture the moment forever.
All Kurt had to do was make sure he was alone with Mr. Schuester in the Spanish classroom after school.
.
.
It wasn't that hard, you know. To sneak into school grounds without setting off any kind of panic or giving the impression that you weren't supposed to be there. Half of it was attitude, pulling up as if you had every right to be there at that moment, looking like you were there for a reason. That was where most people went wrong. Nine times out of ten the only reason someone got flagged as suspicious is because they were acting that way – nervous, jumpy, milling around like they had nothing better to do. Puck preferred to take the 'bullshit' approach.
Slimline digital camera in his pocket, he checked his watch as he got out of the car. He was two steps toward the building when the first trickle of student started emerging. Teenagers were usually pretty easy to get past. A swarm of loud, preoccupied adolescents, most of whom just wanted to get the hell out of there. They hardly ever noticed a guy dressed in worn jeans and a navy work shirt headed towards the school building. And if they did notice him they saw him walking like he had somewhere to be and assumed he was maintenance, maybe a janitor or plumber. When he went around the side instead of into the school they probably assumed gardener.
Puck just thought it was fucking lucky the Spanish classroom was on the ground floor.
By the time he found the right place, guided by Kurt's description and confirmed by the flag pinned up on the back wall, the school was mostly empty. He tucked himself into a nook with great visibility and pulled out the camera to check its ability to focus through the window. The smaller windows at the top were cracked open just enough that Puck could hear what was going on inside.
He had to smirk a little as he watched Kurt work. If he didn't already know better he would have sworn that was really just a pretty sixteen year old kid standing in that classroom with his youngish male teacher.
Puck watched through the camera as Kurt spoke shyly to the teacher, already standing just a little too close to be innocent. The flash and noise of the camera disabled, Puck snapped a shot of the teacher's profile and Kurt's sweet smile. He caught another of the teacher's hand raising, a third when he placed it gently on Kurt's shoulder, thumb brushing against the side of his neck. He watched Kurt step forward, head tilting back a little further so he could keep looking at Mr. Schuester's face.
Delicate, pale hands touched the Spanish teacher's sweater vest, smoothing down over the material. Kurt stepped forward and a little to the side, skilfully turning Schuester just enough for Puck to get a better angle of his face. The man looked serious, a hint of nervousness in the lines around his eyes. Puck's next snap caught the man licking his lower lip, thumb brushing Kurt's cheek and dangerously close to his mouth. He purposefully missed the moment when Kurt turned his head a little and kissed that thumb.
Puck got the sense then that this was the moment and readied himself for the rapid set of photos to follow.
He watched as Schuester leaned in, eyes closing at the last second. A forbidden first kiss caught forever on digital film, including the momentary shock in Kurt's wide eyes before they closed into contentment. Feeling perverse, Puck zoomed in as far as the camera would allow and managed to catch a tiny hint of tongue. From this angle he couldn't tell whose it was, and really it didn't matter.
They had what they needed now. All the rest was just dirt thrown into a grave.
It took another ten minutes for Schuester to come to his senses enough to decide that maybe this was a really bad idea; Puck had to suppress a laugh when he saw the exact second that registered and ducked down under the window to listen to the awkward goodbyes before the teacher fled the room.
A few moments later and Kurt was standing by the window, looking down at him. Puck straightened, grinning at his partner.
"I assume you got it all?" Kurt asked, plucking a roll of mints from his jacket. He popped one into his mouth, rolling it around over his tongue.
"In technicolour, baby." Puck flipped the camera to view mode and showed Kurt the last couple of images he'd taken. "Irrefutable fucking goldmine of proof."
"Perfect, as always." Kurt smiled at him through the window. "Meet you at the car. You can drive me home."
Puck heard the 'so I can do it all again tomorrow' even though Kurt didn't say it and raised a hand to tap the glass with his fingers before he left hid hiding spot by the window to walk back to the parking lot. Things would move pretty fast from here on in, he was sure. They always did after the first photos.
