The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter Twenty-One
Pop Sugar
Exclusive footage: Blaine's summer rendezvous with rumored boyfriend
The lead singer of The Warblers has been mysteriously missing from the tabloids lately, and now we know why. Blaine Anderson has a boyfriend!
Okay, so it's not confirmed, but you review the evidence:
Anderson was spotted Tuesday afternoon in the quaint town of Windsor, England, where he and the band's PA, Kurt Hummel, took a tour of the Royal residence of Windsor Castle, before whiling the afternoon away on the romantic Long Walk.
Fans who sat a few meters from them in the afternoon sun, captured footage of the playful pair laughing and whispering to one another before battling it out in the cutest tickle fight we have ever seen.
The Twitter user who posted the original video said:
GinaWarbler4EvA: Blaine A is here in Windsor with Kurt! This is not a drill! They are so adorable! #warblerinlove
Just last week Blaine was caught outside The Ritz hotel in London with Hummel, sparking speculation over their relationship. Blaine escorted him into the hotel, where the two remained until the band checked out the following afternoon.
What do we think? Has Blaine Anderson turned in his bachelor card for domestic bliss? Or is this a publicity stunt to mend the singer's sullied reputation? Watch the video below and decide for yourself, folks!
"Kurt, don't take this the wrong way. I'm glad you're giving this a shot, but, what's changed?" Mercedes asked. "Last week you were humoring me when you said you'd think this over, and now you can't wait to get started."
"I just- you're right. I'm not going to be the guys' assistant for the rest of my life," Kurt said, painfully aware of just how true this statement would be if he allowed his feelings for Blaine to trample his common sense. "I can't have Broadway, but maybe I can have fashion. It's my second love, and anyway I think you need an ally over here."
"You're damn right I do. If you're sure…" She eyed Kurt nodding his eagerness. "Welcome aboard. I've already talked over the specifics with Wes. You're sticking with us for the video shoot, because we need all the help we can get, and the set has runners for errands. Just don't slack off in the day job and get me in trouble, 'kay?"
"I won't." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Mercedes. I know I reacted badly but, I really appreciate what you're doing for me."
"Anytime, baby," she said. "Are we doing lunch later?"
"Definitely. And I'm sending the boys to you later for fittings, right?"
"Four o clock," she confirmed. "Come watch and learn. We're making them a little less uniform for this shoot like you suggested, so hopefully it gets the green light from that Abrams guy who's directing. Then maybe once we're done you can tell me what's bothering you? And don't think you're getting away without filling me in on the Windsor trip the internet's going nuts about."
Kurt fluttered his fingers on the way out, his smile slipping when he turned the corner. Damn. He hoped she'd let the existence of that video go without comment.
Despite his attempts to appear normal and unaffected by the risky progression of his relationship with Blaine, he could feel people watching him, like his feelings were painted all over his face, vivid as a Van Gogh painting.
Perhaps they were. Perhaps he was paranoid. Perhaps his efforts to mask his true feelings made them plainer to the casual observer.
They were certainly obvious to himself, now he'd shed his last layer of denial.
No longer was he capable of telling himself the tinge of red to his cheeks, the thud of his heart in his throat, the pleasant but inappropriate swooping sensation below his navel, and the heightened sensitivity of his skin with Blaine in close proximity, was from the heat, coming down with a cold, or lack of sleep. He couldn't pass off the fantasies dominating his alone time as guilty one-off's, because they were happening every night, his right hand pumping to a too-much but not-enough climax, fueled by the memory of every tactile touch.
Blaine couldn't seem to help himself, now he knew Kurt welcomed his attention. Thanking Kurt with a hand down Kurt's back, hooking his chin over his shoulder to see the schedule, letting his fingers linger longer than necessary when Kurt passed something to him.
Kurt craved these moments, a thirst that wasn't curable by a sip of water, and he had to keep busy to ignore it.
Blaine hadn't broached the subject of dating with Wes yet, choosing to leave it until he was in a better mood. Filming on Santa Monica Pier for the music video had been set back a day by an unexpected earthquake damaging a third of the equipment. Wes had arrived on the scene and lost his temper, forcing Kurt to agree wholeheartedly: Now was not the time to piss him off.
Especially after that video in Windsor.
Interviews had to be delayed, meetings pushed back, studio sessions rescheduled, time off cancelled, security details rearranged, potential publicity breaches foreseen ahead of time, mornings made earlier than originally planned.
And to cap it all, the weather was scorching. The British team members were unused to the heat that, according to the perky weather lady on Good Day LA, had swept in from Arizona overnight.
Kurt was jarred out of his worries by a text from Quinn telling him she had made it to the hotel, after flying in from New York.
"You're definitely working with wardrobe then?" she said, when she let him into her room.
"I am. It's hard to argue when everyone is telling you to go for it," he replied, eyes on the altered schedule programmed into his tablet, ready to be relayed to her.
Quinn arched a perfect eyebrow, her green eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Is it what you want though?"
"Huh?"
"Everyone has told you to go for it, but do you actually want to?" Quinn pulled him down onto a chair set up in the corner of her room. "Because I can tell you from experience; doing what everyone else thinks you should, isn't necessarily what's best."
"No one bullied you into this job," Kurt chided.
"No, but they did try to bully me into being the sixteen-year-old high school drop-out, who marries the baby daddy." Quinn smiled wryly. "I have nothing against teen moms who take that path, it's just... not me. There's too much I want to do, and Puck and I are in this too deep with Beth and her foster mom to back out now."
"How is she?"
"Happy she's not itchy anymore." Quinn laughed. "She's got a few little scars now from all the scratching she sneaked in when Shelby wasn't looking. And I think she missed us. She didn't even let me out of the cab before she threw herself at me."
Kurt laughed. "I'd love to meet her one day."
"We're back in New York for two weeks in a few days, so maybe I'll bring her to the recording studio," Quinn replied with a soft, faraway smile. "What were we talking about?"
"Me doing work experience."
"Right. I guess what I was trying to say is, if there's something else you'd rather be doing, go for it." Quinn took Kurt's tablet from him and quickly emailed herself the new schedule. "It's not too late."
Yes it is, Kurt thought dully. He'd wanted Broadway, but Broadway hadn't wanted him. Kurt tilted his head to the side with a fond smile and said instead, "Where was this Quinn back when I was interviewing?"
"She was buried in a mountain of work and didn't think you'd last the week," Quinn admitted archly. "She also didn't know how nice you are."
Kurt laughed, taking the tablet back from her. "Quinn, I... I'm sort of floundering on what I want to do. I know I want to be in the entertainment industry, I just don't know where any more. It can't hurt to try out other positions to see what fits, right?"
"Sounds like a smart idea actually," Quinn said, eyes lingering on the palm trees outside her window. "Maybe I should…"
"A very wise woman just told me that it's never too late to try."
"Has he said anything to you about that video yet?" David asked.
The shoot for the music video was finally in motion and, with a bit of luck, they were only six hours away from wrap being called. Jan, Mercedes, Sugar, and Kurt had been running around adjusting the boy's outfits, touching up make-up and thrusting them in and out of their trailers in the hazy heat for two days.
Mercedes looked up with interest at David's words. Kurt ignored her, eyes on David's collar, debating whether to whip it off him to run a quick iron over it.
"Who, Wes?" Kurt asked. "No. I've been expecting something since the paparazzi photos came out the other week, but so far it's like they don't even care..."
"They care," David said softly. "Wes has been taking meetings with Kitty. And I overheard him telling Quinn that the suits upstairs are concerned with the lack of strategy from PR. You know, over 'the Blaine issue'." He made bunny ears with his fingers and rolled his eyes. "Something's being figured out. We just don't know which way they're going to spin the media interest in you."
Damn. "I thought the silence was too good to be true."
David patted Kurt on the back awkwardly. "If it makes you feel better, you're probably the least of Wes' worries right now. He's under pressure to find another female vocalist for this track, after Harmony didn't work out."
The director was calling the band back to the set.
Tongue peeking in concentration, Kurt finally made the collar align properly against David's neck. "Done."
"Thanks. Try and stay out of the way of paparazzi while we're here," he said, walking backwards towards the open space the other four were rehearsing in for the next take. "We're at Hollywood's doorstep. They're gonna' be keeping an eye out."
Kurt dropped his head into his hands, exhausted from a powerful combination of jetlag and stress. He needed a vacation.
"You okay, boo?"
"I wanna' have a girly night." He lowered his voice to a whisper when the 1st AD called for quiet on set. "Just us and maybe Quinn?"
"Yeah, sure..." Mercedes eyed him critically. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
He would be. Just as soon as he knew how much trouble he was in.
A girl's night turned out to be exactly what he needed. Once he'd convinced Sugar to quit pestering him about Blaine.
Well, convinced probably wasn't the word for it. He simply distracted her with the news that Mercedes had been secretly dating a mystery guy for the last month, and like a cat with a new ball, she'd batted at that subject and wheedled until Mercedes was ready to throttle her. Mercedes then steered the conversation to Quinn's sort-of-but-not-really high school romance with Mohawk Muscle Man, as Sugar called Puck, and Kurt quickly took pity on Quinn and changed that subject.
Kurt stumbled back to his room after midnight, to find Blaine sat outside his door.
"Blainey!"
"Hey, where've you been?" Blaine asked, hopping to his feet. "You look... buzzed?"
That's one word for it.
"Quinn, Mercedes, Sugar and I had a movie night... cocktails were involved. At least, they were meant to be cocktails. I don't know what Sugar put in the Sex on the Beach, but I don't think it was meant to be that sour."
Kurt rested heavily against the wall, eyes raking over Blaine shamelessly. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight black polo shirt, the gel from the video shoot washed away until his curls flopped messily against his forehead.
"Hi," he said.
Blaine chuckled and held his hand out to Kurt. Tongue peeking in concentration, Kurt slapped a five and held his own up for another.
"No!" Blaine laughed and pried Kurt's key card from his left hand, "I was going to open the door for you."
"Oh. Sorry. Here you go." Kurt frowned at his empty hand and looked around the floor. "Wait, I don't have it. Where'd it…?" Blaine held it up. "…Oh! I must have dropped it."
The door was open now and Kurt's heavy head fell back against Blaine's shoulder. He allowed himself to be steered by steady hands at his hips, to sit on something soft. It was a mattress. And Blaine was beside him. Kurt rubbed his forehead against his polo shirt. He smelled like cinnamon and aftershave.
"I'm just going to get you some water," Blaine said, throat clearing.
Kurt didn't want Blaine to move away, but laying down on a soft mattress was tempting. Flopping onto his back, he closed his eyes and curled into a ball. It made the ceiling spin like a top, so he placed one foot on the floor to steady his equilibrium.
Blaine was back at his side. "Sit up, beautiful," he said.
Accepting the water bottle held out to him, Kurt mumbled a "thank you" and sipped. The cool water was a welcome balm to his throat.
Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's shoulder again, not even caring the hairspray he'd methodically applied earlier had lost its grip. The smell of aftershave was even stronger with his nose pressed to Blaine's neck. He breathed it in deep and nudged the tip of his nose at the juncture between Blaine's shoulder and neck.
A shudder powered through Blaine, grip tight against Kurt's waist. "What are you doing?"
"You smell good," Kurt mumbled and pressed little kisses into Blaine's skin.
Whining, Blaine cupped Kurt's cheeks and held him out of reach. "You're drunk."
"I'm not drunk." Blaine cocked his head at that so Kurt sighed dramatically. "Okay, I'm a little drunk! But I know what I want so, shhhh."
"I know you do, but I still have to ask Wes. Remember?"
That did sound familiar. Thinking started to hurt though, so Kurt sipped more water.
"That's why I'm here, actually. The shoot's over so I'm going to ask him," Blaine said. "Is that okay?"
"Ask him...?
"Wow, you really are drunk. Maybe we should have this conversation when you've slept it off," Blaine said.
"No, no! Now."
"I'm asking him if I can take you out on a date," Blaine said slowly.
Kurt's eyes widened. "You're doing that now?"
"Well, not right this second, but probably tomorrow. Is that okay?"
"I feel sick."
"Shit, do you need a bucket?"
"No, no, not drunk sick. Scared sick." Kurt clung to Blaine's shoulders clumsily. "He's going to fire me. He'll chuck you from the band. We're going to be like King Edward abdicading- I mean abdicat...? Abdi- saying bye bye to the throne to marry Marge Simpson-"
"Wallis Simpson," Blaine corrected, cheeks pinched like he's trying not to smile.
"We'll have to move to France for the rest of our lives. Can you speak French?"
"Kurt, I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion," Blaine replied.
"I don't want to move to France!" Kurt whined. His head shot up when Blaine threw his head back and laughed. "Hey!"
"I'm sorry," Blaine said, pressing his smile to Kurt's forehead. It tingled to the tips of his fingers and toes and made it a little harder to be mad at him. "You're just really adorable."
"Your accent is adorable... it's all..." Kurt yawned. "English."
"I specifically recall you telling me your first week with us, that British accents weren't a thing for you?" Blaine teased.
"I lied."
"Well that was rubbish of you. What other lies have you been feeding me?"
"That's a weird word, 'rubbish'." Kurt giggled into his hand as he tried to sound it out. "Rubbish, rubbish, ru-bish, rub-bish- no wait it's gone weird." Kurt screwed up his nose, lips pursed in concentration. "You ever get that? When you say a word too much and it feels weird? RUB-ISH. No, it's all wrong."
Blaine smiled indulgently. "Yeah, I get that sometimes. 'Bed' is a funny word too. Speaking of bed, you should get some shut eye."
"You're not gonna' stay?" Kurt pouted at Blaine, who pressed his lips to Kurt's forehead again, fingers tickling the hairs at the back of his neck.
"Not tonight. We'll talk again in the morning, when you've cleared your head. That sound good?"
No, that sounded bad. Blaine would be gone. And Kurt wanted to kiss him. He was right there. He could just do it. But sleep sounded good too. And he wasn't allowed to kiss Blaine. So sleep would have to do.
"Mmmm... kay."
Waking up didn't feel good. Kurt's head felt like a stampede of miniature horses had trampled it in the night. Tequila. Why did he say yes to the tequila?
He groaned and burrowed his head into his pillow, blocking out the sunlight that trickled in from behind the curtains. Blaine must have drawn them for him last night. Blearily he glanced over the room. Blaine wasn't there, but a bucket from the bathroom had been placed beside the bed, a full bottle of water sat beside him on the nightstand with a packet of Tylenol too. A note was propped against his lamp.
Hey mister, the guys and I have interviews all morning, but we decided to let you sleep it off. Yes, Wes is okay with it (apparently Quinn's in a bad state too? What the hell were you guys doing?). I hope the headache isn't too bad. I'll see you later.
- Blaine
P.S. You are the most adorable drunk I have ever seen.
"Ass," Kurt grumbled, flopping back down. He was too groggy to even berate himself for oversleeping. Water. Tylenol. He made himself sit up again and took two tablets, washing it down with half the bottle of water. Dozing for an indeterminable amount of time, he was shocked back to consciousness by the violent buzz of his phone against the nightstand.
Wes (11:14): Kurt, did you read all of your new contract when you signed it this time around?
Kurt sat up and cocked his head at the message. Of course he had. Not… thoroughly. It was the same contract with a few additions. He had skimmed it again to refresh his memory though.
Kurt (11:16): Yes. I agreed to the conditions. Why?
Wes (11:17): Go back to clause 19.
Fishing the contract out of the draw by his bed, Kurt laid it out on his pillow and skipped the first 14 pages to the section specified. He'd barely glanced it over the second time, not wanting to see the words that bound him to a promise he was finding it harder and harder to keep. Just last night Blaine had stopped Kurt kissing his neck! He groaned with embarrassment from the memory. He'd always gotten a bit tactile when he was drunk, in complete contrast to his guarded existence as a sober man.
The technical jargon was difficult to focus on in his state; hung-over and tired, but Kurt forced himself to read pages 14 and 15 thoroughly, only to pause on page 16. The title for the next section stared back at him.
He frowned. That was odd, he could have sworn there was more relating to the professional nature of his relationship with-
Grabbing up his bag, he pulled a folder full of important documents from inside and searched until the original contract he'd signed back in February was in his grasp. Skipping straight to page 16, he found the section that was supposed to be in the revised contract.
Kurt looked from the first contract to the second, the second to the first and back again, over and over. It was definitely missing from the new contract, but that couldn't be right. Why would they leave it out? Had it been moved to another page?
Unless...
His phone buzzed again. Kurt snatched up the phone and opened Wes' message.
Wes (11:26): Don't make me regret it.
"You have got to be kidding me!"
The phone dropped to the mattress. His heart was hammering as he settled back against his pillows, hand over mouth.
Wes had changed the conditions over a week ago. Blaine wasn't out of bounds.
"Fuck."