Summary: Things get heated at Blaine's first post-quarantine competition when his father and his old coach make a surprise visit.
Notes: Warning for homophobia.
"This is not happening... this is not happening... " Blaine mumbles, pacing back and forth, arms wrapped tight around his torso but carefully so as not to dislodge any of the hundreds of crystals Kurt had applied by hand to this new costume he'd made especially for him.
A costume so intricate and lovingly crafted that Sebastian turns green every time he's in its presence (even though Kurt has made him close to a dozen of his own).
"It's going to be all right," Kurt says, trying his best to calm Blaine down. He reaches out a hand to stop him but decides against it. He understands the pain of suffering from this level of anxiety. Standing still when you're about to rip out of your skin can be the worst feeling in the world.
"I'm not doing this... " Blaine decides, tapping his right fist against his left elbow. "I'm not-I'm not doing this... "
"Too late, champ," Sebastian teases, tucking his button-up into his slacks and joining the freak-out already in process. "You've already skated. No backing out now."
"No jokes!" Kurt hisses. "That's not what this is about!"
"Then what is it?" Sebastian asks, growing concerned when Blaine starts to curl in on himself. Sebastian steps in front of him, feeling a need to shield him from prying eyes wandering by. "I was in the can for all of three minutes. What in the hell happened?"
Kurt leans into Sebastian's side and whispers, "His father's here. And his old coach."
"What the fuck?" Sebastian turns in a circle, half looking for the men in question (even though he's never seen either, so he has no idea who he's looking for), but also searching for a place they can hide, get Blaine out of the public eye. "What the hell are they doing here?"
"I... I don't know. I don't know how they even knew I'd be here," Blaine replies.
"They'd had to have Googled you," Sebastian says, eyes darting back and forth over the crowd.
"Why would they do that? My dad said he never wanted to see me again! So what's the point?"
"I don't know," Sebastian admits. Would it be too much to ask that it's because the man actually cares about Blaine? Sebastian doesn't know a thing about him other than he punched his son and threw him out onto the street, so he can't answer that question, but from the outset, most signs point to no.
Sebastian hopes the man proves him wrong.
He isn't one for seeing the good in people. He'd rather believe that most are self-serving assholes, that way he's not disappointed when he's right. But this is Blaine's dad. And regardless of Sebastian feeling a bit jealous of his relationship with Kurt, Sebastian secretly prays that one day Blaine and his dad can make amends.
Sebastian spots a line of locker rooms, the doors painted to blend with the walls. They're about the size of the average closet, but hunkering down in a cramped room is better than waiting around for the inevitable. "Come on, guys. We can duck in there."
Kurt takes Blaine by the elbow as Sebastian leads the way, barking out a frustrated, "Excuse us. Excuse us," to the skaters yet to perform, who have opted to do their off-ice warm-ups smack dab in everyone else's way. Sebastian frowns when he remembers that used to be him once upon a time - constantly showing off, always in other people's space. His coach had told him it was an effective intimidation technique.
It's not.
It's just annoying.
Blaine sighs as they reach the blue metal door, relief in sight.
It turns out to be premature.
"Still under rotating those triples, I see."
Blaine sighs again, but this time it's a sound of utter defeat, and something inside Kurt snaps. He whirls around, putting himself between Blaine and whoever might be behind them, saying, "Don't you have anything nice to say?" before he comes face to face with two older men trying way too hard to appear important in their expensively tailored wool suits, out-of-place with everyone else around them bundled up in jeans, sweaters, and puff jackets. They can't even wear simple cloth masks, opting for those overpriced dome things constructed of 'space-age materials', clear so people can see the entirety of the wearer's face.
From the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Blaine turn slowly, as if he would rather be anywhere but here, which sucks because Blaine had an amazing skate! A skate Nathan Chen would have been proud of! But that's about to be ruined by the presence of these two a-holes!
"Nice about what?" the same man retorts, and even though that sounds like the sort of remark one would expect a coach to make, Kurt just knows that this man - with the same dark hair as Blaine's, glued to his scalp with a tremendous amount of product, sucking in his lower lip as he grins - has to be his dad. "His lackluster choreography? His offensive song choice? This fruity costume? Or those skates?" He pops his lower lip in disgust as he gestures down to the black Edea skates Kurt customized with rainbow crystals. "Jesus, Blaine! Why don't you carry one of those rainbow flags out on the ice with you! Or tattoo one to your face! That way everyone knows!"
"Most people already do!" Blaine argues, surprising his friends. But it delights Sebastian more. Despite his 'dapper charm' that he lays on thick as oatmeal, Sebastian suspected Blaine couldn't be as meek as he seemed around him and Kurt. Looks like he was right. "And guess what? No one seems to have a problem with it! And if they do, they have the courtesy to keep it to themselves!"
"That's because you're a figure skater. You're surrounded by gays, aren't you?" he snarks, shooting a pointed glance at Kurt. Blaine's old coach (Simon, if Kurt remembers correctly - supposedly a huge deal though Kurt has never heard of him), who has yet to say anything, has the dignity to look embarrassed by Mr. Anderson over that remark.
"Has he always been this much of an ass?" Sebastian seethes. "Or is he doing this for our benefit?
Blaine's first instinct is to defend him, even after everything the man has done. He is his father after all. But he stops himself, gives Sebastian's question a solid think.
And his answer is yes.
Yes, he has.
He's always been an ass. To him and, to a lesser extent, his mother. Nothing has ever been good enough for him. Gold medals, sponsorships, scholarships, endorsements - not a single thing that has come from Blaine's skating has his father ever been proud of.
"What you see is what you get," Blaine says diplomatically. Mr. Anderson's thin-lipped grin drops like a lead weight, and Kurt snickers.
"Your edges have improved," Simon puts in haughtily. "Don't know how that happened."
"It's called practice," Kurt says, "dedication... and the perks of finding a better, more supportive coaching team."
Simon's eyes travel from Kurt's face to a smug Sebastian, and the man rolls his eyes. "I'll bet."
"So, is this what you gave your family up for?" Mr. Anderson asks, waving a hand towards Kurt so vehemently he nearly smacks him. "Or are you still waiting in the wings?"
Blaine's cheeks burn, speechless that his father held on to those words he overheard and is now throwing them in his face, especially since he never told Kurt about the phone call that got him kicked out. Not entirely. And as far as he knew, Sebastian hasn't either, confirmed by the confusion on Kurt's face.
"You're talking to your son," Sebastian growls. "You haven't seen him in over a year, haven't talked to him during a global pandemic even once to find out whether or not he's okay. He just won his second gold medal of the night. But you're stomping over here like you have every right, and all you care about is his sex life?"
Mr. Anderson raises a stern finger. "This doesn't concern you."
"Yes, it does! Because after you pulled your little homophobic stunt and blackened his eye, he started living with me. In my house." Sebastian stops himself from clarifying further when he notices they're attracting attention. He didn't mean to out Blaine's abuse. Sebastian had no right to let that slip. But with the tunnel of red obscuring his vision, he'd started to forget there's anyone else around. He's got to apologize but now isn't the time. "He owes me nothing. Happy to have him. But you? You owe me plenty."
"What?" Mr. Anderson scoffs. "Do you want me to write you a check?"
"No. But a little gratitude, knowing that your son was in good hands this entire time, might be nice."
Mr. Anderson laughs through his nose. It's as unattractive as it sounds. "Never happening. I offered to take him back. He felt he knew better. If Blaine chooses to live in a den of sin, that's his business."
Sebastian shakes his head in disbelief. Blaine's father isn't talking about pre-marital sex. Hell, if Blaine was kicking it with some busty blonde cheerleader this whole time, his dad would probably be ecstatic.
He's referring to the fact that the three of them are gay.
Some people.
Well, if he wants to be an epic jackhole, fine. Two can play at that game.
"You know, since you're so concerned with who your son is being intimate with, since that matters so much to you, it might interest you to know that he's not just screwing Kurt here. He's fucking me as well." Sebastian pauses, lets those words sink in, and soaks in the delicious fallout. He doesn't know whose reaction he likes better - the men in front of him scowling like he farted in their masks, or the boys standing beside him, staring at him wide-eyed and growing pale. "Oh yeah," Sebastian continues, fueled by the conflicted awe in Kurt's eyes specifically. "The three-ways are plentiful, in every position."
"You... you little liar!"
Sebastian shrugs. "I mean, that's what it's all about, right? What do you think's been going on at my house while he's been living there? He's gotta pay the rent somehow."
"You're disgusting!" Mr. Anderson sneers.
"You're one to talk - a middle-aged man whose only concern about his son's welfare is where he sticks his dick! Give this a lot of thought, do ya? Talk about it over dinner and shit?"
Mr. Anderson takes a step forward. Blaine and Kurt take a reflexive step back - social distancing and all. But Sebastian doesn't budge. "You listen here, you... !"
"Is there a problem?" a man dressed in a red, white, and blue windbreaker emblazoned with the name of the rink they're in, asks. They'd been so engrossed in this pissing contest, no one noticed the man cut through the crowd to reach them. Mr. Anderson steps back, aggressively straightening his jacket. Kurt thinks he hears a seam pop, and he flinches on behalf of a thousand-dollar sports coat.
"No," Mr. Anderson answers quickly, annoyed by the interruption. "No problem."
Seeing a way to put an easy end to this, Sebastian speaks up. "Actually, there is. These men aren't coaches or skaters. And they're harassing us. So could you please... ?"
Mr. Anderson chuckles. "Right. Good luck with that. I have no intention of going anywhere."
The attendant shakes his head. "I'm sorry but... " He turns to Mr. Anderson "... I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave. We need to keep this area clear."
Mr. Anderson's eyelids narrow to slits. "What?"
"We have a capacity limit." The man points to a sign posted nearby. Neither Mr. Anderson nor Simon looks. "Skaters and coaches only. Everyone else has to go back to the bleachers."
"Are you kidding me!?"
"Unless you have a pass... "
Mr. Anderson looks at the three boys. They lift laminated tags attached to lanyards hanging around their necks. Blaine's says 'Skater' in neon green letters, Kurt's says 'Assistant Coach' in bright orange, and Sebastian's says 'Coach' in yellow. Mr. Anderson and Simon have no such lanyards.
Technically, they don't even have tickets to the event.
Simon used the clout he has left to get them this far.
"I'll have to call security if you don't leave," the man interjects, reaching for his walkie.
Mr. Anderson sniffs, tries to retain his composure, but he's not a man used to taking no for an answer.
Or being bested by teenagers.
"I'll be seeing you boys again," he says low, like a threat.
"Absolutely!" Sebastian says. "Stop by Westerville Ice-plex anytime so my uncle can serve you that restraining order Blaine should have filed the first time around!"
Mr. Anderson doesn't look the least bit amused when rink staff leads him away, glaring venomously at them over his shoulder as he's escorted to the double doors. The three watch, waiting till he's completely out of sight before they breathe easy again.
"That was fun," Blaine says brightly, trying to make light of this newly tense situation.
"Loads," Kurt agrees.
"I'm so sorry about that. He had no right to talk to you guys like that. Especially you, Kurt."
Kurt smiles. It gets lost behind his faux Chanel mask, but luckily it reaches his eyes. "You don't need to apologize."
"Look, Blaine," Sebastian starts, "I'm really sorry for bringing up... "
"Don't worry about it," Blaine cuts in. He'd happily forgotten about that. He wants to drop it. "It shouldn't be a secret. That's how people like him get away with doing what he did."
"Still, it was kind of shitty."
"Yeah, but that wasn't your fault."
Sebastian puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. It's the closest thing to a hug he can offer.
"Come on." Kurt puts his hand over Sebastian's. "Let's go get Blaine's medals and head home, hmm?"
"Sounds like a plan." Blaine turns to Sebastian, disarming mischief in his hazel eyes. "So... about that three-way... "
"You mean you, leftie, and rightie?" Sebastian winds a possessive arm around his boyfriend and ushers him quickly through the crowd towards the medal stand. "Be sure to tell us all about it in the morning."