AN: More of a filler, but I'm a bit fond of it, actually. I like anything that lets me put in mentions of overprotective dad Burt and the fact that Finn, Kurt and Sam are living together as bros.
Thanks for the reviews, by the way, they're super nice. Feel free to request stuff you want me to write (prompts, ect.) if you care to. (Not trying to say someone would particularly want to read what I write, but I get bored. And I'm bad at focusing on just one thing for long.)
How Cleveland's Ohio State Prison manages to be both humid and freezing Blaine doubts he'll ever know. He asked once and got food thrown on him, and right before he was due to meet Kurt, too. He never did take care of the guy who did it, as he'd been distracted with cleaning himself at the time, and after his visit he'd been much too distracted with thoughts of his Kurt.
Maybe he can squeeze Victor Ramsey in on Tuesday….
He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. No. He can't risk Tuesday.
"Anderson!"
He's been expecting a call, so he doesn't ignore the guard like he usually does. He typically refuses to acknowledge anyone other than Charles, simply because it unnerves the man, but this is much too important.
It takes them five fucking minutes to get him to the damn phone, but he's gotten used to their inefficiency by now, so much that it's only a minor annoyance at this point.
He glares at the oaf who thrusts the phone roughly into his hands, before taking a deep breath and adopting a smile. If it's who he thinks it is, he'll be much more frustrating this way.
"Hello?"
"Listen you fucking little bastard, you stay the hell away from my boy."
Blaine's smile becomes more genuine at the angry whisper.
"Mr. Hummel," he greets. "I see Kurt got his present."
There's yelling on the other line, a lot of it, and he can pick out Burt and Finn each. There's a few other boys too, ones he can't recognize. He can feel himself getting annoyed. The yelling goes on for a minute, and he can hear the phone be grappled over. He sighs, holding the phone away from his ear with distaste. With one final pass the yelling increases and a door slams.
"Blaine?"
He smiles. There's his boy, soft but undeniably angry.
"Hey, sweetheart. I missed you."
"Why is my father screaming at you over the phone?"
He laughs a little. Straight to the point, as always.
"They didn't give you your present, then? I put a lot of effort into that."
He can almost hear the trepidation in Kurt's voice as he answers.
"What was it?"
The first present Blaine sends is nothing special.
He goes to that florist on Cadence Avenue, the one within the lovely old house but that has a crappy inside. There's a metaphor in that, and he's always been fond of metaphors.
The flowers are simple, purples and whites and deep red.
He gets them to put in some blackberries.
Kurt woke up after his night at Scandals in a bed that definitely isn't his.
His head is throbbing and his body feels fuzzy and he can't figure out why, just knows that he feels funny and then heaves over, emptying his stomach.
When he sits up is when he realizes that the deep blue sheets he's tangled in aren't his. He panics, trying to scramble out, but he just ends up tripping himself and ending up on the floor, his head pounding even more.
Burt hears the fall from just outside the door, where he keeps lingering despite Carol's insistence that he's just putting stress on his heart by doing so.
He finds his son on the floor, and he'd been planning to yell and bang pots around like his parents did when he'd come home wasted. Kurt's face, though, it's not right.
"Buddy?"
Kurt looks up at him, eyes watering, and he's much too weak because he doesn't think he can yell when the kid looks like that.
"Dad?" he asks, and shit, he sounds like he's about to cry. "Daddy, I don't know what happened."
Now he is crying, and it's so unlike him that something that blonde punk with the stupid hat that came stumbling through the door at two o'clock in the morning with his only child giggling and falling over had said before he'd gone for his rifle and the kid took off.
I think someone might have maybe drugged him.
He'd been pissed at Kurt for drinking so much, but it was starting to look like something else might be going on.
It doesn't take him too long to transfer him down the stairs and to the couch in the living room. The kid can't even walk, so he has to carry him, and won't he get an earful for that later…
Kurt doesn't regain his senses until nearly nine o'clock that night. It's been a day of tears, hallucinations, and an extremely awkward few minutes in which he's refused to let go of Sam. Burt doesn't know what to make of it exactly, but he's lost his anger for Kurt and redirected it to that blonde kid and whatever complete dipshit that had tried to prey upon his little boy.
He still watches carefully as Kurt sits in on whatever videogame Finn and Sam are playing, trying to see if he'll say something about the ordeal. He wouldn't hear about it until days later if Kurt remembered anything if he didn't hover.
" 'M not sure if it was some date-rapey thing that you had a bad reaction to, or some horrible mixture of ecstasy and cocaine or what, but it wasn't good, dude," Finn mumbles from around a mouthful of twizzlers.
"It wasn't that bad," Sam offers. "Except for the part where you kinda molested me."
"Oh, God, say I didn't," Kurt pleads, and Sam looks down.
"Well, it was mostly a lot of hair action, because you didn't have the control to work my jeans open."
Kurt just flops down face-first on top of Finn's mattress, groaning.
"Please tell me I didn't do anything else."
They're quiet for a minute, until Finn breaks the silence by snickering.
"You made your dad protect you from the closet monster."
Kurt goes to bed soon after, torn between humiliation and fear. Someone did this to him.
He tries to think back to the bar now that he's alone in the quiet with his right mind. He doesn't have the most confidence in many of the patrons, but he does of Bernie, and he can't think how anyone could have done this to him. Chandler had been the only one to handle his….
Oh.
There's a tight arm around his waist, and hot breath on his neck. He feels like he's floating, flying, and then it all goes blank.
B.
But he couldn't have, could he? He didn't make the drink, Bernie had.
But, his mind supplied, he did pour it down your throat while keeping you blindfolded.
God, he's so stupid. And naive. And he's pretty sure he threw up in Chandler's Kia.
His eyes pop open.
Chandler. Shit, his dad probably tried to kill him.
It takes him forever to find his phone. He doesn't want to know why it's on top of the coat rack by the stairs, but it is. It's almost out of battery when he gets it, but there are six new messages.
Kurt! Ok, ONE, you did not tell me your father is a mirror image of Neapolitan Mastiff, and TWO, you better not die.
Sine you're an angel, you wouldn't gain anything from going to heaven. And I'd miss you.
And you live with too many large men who would track me down and shoot me.
-Chandler Gatiss, 12:37 AM
Seriously though, don't die. LY!
-Chandler Gatiss, 12:38 AM
He smiles. Chandler always makes him smile. He scrolls through the other messages. One's from Mercedes, freaking out because apparently Sam can't keep his mouth shut.
The other three are from a blocked number.
8:00 tonight. Scandals. ~B
-BLOCKED, 3:17 PM
Kurt, baby, you really don't want to ignore me. ~B
-BLOCKED, 9:37 PM
Alright, angel, I'll play, just don't expect to win. ~B
-BLOCKED, 10:03 PM
He just stares at the phone. He thinks he can recall something about his mystery man promising to text before running off, but he can't be sure.
He knows he shouldn't encourage this, he really does. He should call Chandler, apologize for whatever he did, and then let himself be drowned in musical references and compliments.
He texts B instead.
How'd you get my number?
-Sent at 11:09 PM
You were a little out of it, sweetheart. ~B
-BLOCKED, 11:11 PM
He can feel anger rise up in his throat.
Besides, I had to contact you to tell you about our date, which you did not attend. I expect you to make it up to me. ~B
-BLOCKED, 11:12 PM
He sends a number of angry, accusing texts afterwords, but he gets no response. It's fine. He doesn't care.
Blaine sighs as he reads over Kurt's texts. It's not that he's particularly bothered by any of the curses and accusations thrown his way; it's the fact that he's doing this at all. He should just accept that he missed his chance to excite and exterminate the boy discreetly, and leave it be.
He can't though. He can't stop seeing those glassy blue eyes and tasting that sweet skin, feeling the tight core under his arm and the silky hair against his lips. He needs to admit that this is more than just a target, but something more, something special. He needs Kurt to be there, vunerable and spread out and begging for him. He needs those eyes to meet his own, to look at him with a desire for touch, love, safety. He wants to give it to him, to give him the world, to give him anything.
He breathes out through his nose, closing his eyes. He could give Kurt anything he wanted; Security, clothes, trips, power, anything he could possibly hope for, except love. He's incapable of giving that, if his hunch about himself is right. He's seldom wrong about that kind of thing.
Kurt is a bad influence on him. It's been one day, and what can barely be considered two conversations, and already he's making incriminating connections wit this boy. He couldn't kill him.
Not even if you wanted to, a voice in his head whispers, and he mentally tells it to shut the fuck up.
He could kill Kurt. He just doesn't want to, at the moment, because he could be traced.
He grabs a new card from the display, scrawling a new message and throwing it at the old oriental woman behind the florist's counter. He already paid.
He's out the door before he can turn himself around and change his mind.
Kurt forces himself to go to school Monday, despite his father's several insistances that he's now to be homeschooled.
He hasn't heard back from B, and he's positive that that's for the best. After all, he's probably an attemoted rapist, not to mention rude as hell and abrasive.
He doesn't go to his locker until after third period, when he absolutely has to switch out his books. He finds the flowers immediately. They're beautiful. He feels that tiny bit of pure happiness he used to feel when he was little and fantasized about Batman saving him from his first grade class and taking him on a picnic. He pushes it down as best he can, trying not to let his smile get too wide. There's always the possibility they're meant for someone else, like that time Finn left a heart teddy bear for Rachel in his locker without telling him. He'd been overwhelmingly happy for the five minutes he'd thought he'd had a secret admirer, before Finn had crushed that dream. (Sam had given him a flower he picked later that day, probably thinking Kurt hadn't seen the slap he aimed at the back of Finn's oversized head.)
At any rate, he knows better than to get his hopes up. He checks the card this time.
I really do want that date. Show up tonight at Scandals? Please?
~B
Kurt isn't stupid. He's not going to go.
Not alone, anyway.
AN: This seems a bit all over the place to me. I needed a middle section-thingy to piece together the last chapter and the one after this, though, I promise the next part makes more sense.
Thanks for the reviews, by the way. They're really sweet. I appreciate them more then you know.
ALSO! Blaine is kinda flippy with his moods, which is based a bit on myself when I didn't have my bipolar disorder under control. (I was never murderous, though, so don't worry.)
I sound weird and creepy now. Awesome. Oh, though if you are bipolar or possibly bipolar or have problems with your sexuality or depression or whatever, I'm completely willing to listen to your problems. Been there, and all.