Come What May, 2
Title: Come What May
Part: 2/8?
Pairing: Eventually Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG? I think it's pretty safe!
Disclaimer: I own zilch. Glee own characters, Moulin Rouge owns basic plot line and Lady Gaga owns Marry the Night.
Summary: Glee/Moulin Rouge crossover fic! Blaine is a bohemian writer and a new arrival in Paris, where he meets a porcelain skinned courtesan.... Based on a prompt by indiearsonist
The Moulin Rouge was nothing like Blaine had been expecting. It was as huge and as high ceilinged as a cathedral with a crowded bar stretching from wall to red mirrored wall. A chandelier glittered from above the dance floor, like a cluster of newly cut diamonds, each fragment sharp and dazzling.
Men in suits and top hats and women in corsets and dresses so short they'd make Blaine's father faint with shock lounged on high stools and dark, velvet padded chairs, all of them drinking and laughing, the sound of their voices raised over the music was enough to make Blaine's head spin. How had he never been to a place like this before?
Brittany was already seated at one of the round wooden tables beside the stage when Blaine arrived, escorted by Finn, Rachel and Mike. She waved them over. In front of her, was a tray covered with a dangerous number of shot glasses. Red liquid, clear liquid, golden brown, bottle green… Blaine had never seen so much alcohol in one place in his life.
"I wasn't sure what you wanted." She shrugged.
"How did you pay for all these?" Mike asked incredulously, "You can barely pay the rent."
Brittany sipped from the glass closest to her and gave an uncharacteristically shy smile, her eyes flicking over the table top. "I didn't buy them. Santana did, I think she's trying to get me drunk."
"Who's Santana?" asked Blaine.
"She's over there," Finn said, nodding over to the bar. Blaine looked over, just in time to see a dark haired bar maid in a rather revealing black and red dress give their table a sarcastic little wave. Brittany waved back with enthusiasm.
So… If Blaine saw what he thought he was seeing that meant that… Brittany and Santana, like, Brittany and another girl? And that was… Okay? Judging by the faces of the others, not one of them seemed to find that strange or gross or wrong or… It was just normal?
He glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else had noticed that brief interaction. If they had, they didn't show it. Everyone was just… getting on with what they had been doing. No one stopped and looked. In fact… The two guys on the table opposite theirs, didn't they seem to be sitting kind of closely?
Before he could say anything to the others about it, about the kind of place they might be in (evidently the supposed-to-be forbidden, immoral kind), Finn turned to Rachel and said "Rach, you wanna go over the plan again?"
Rachel sighed. "It's easy" she said, sounding exasperated "We go in, and after the opening dance, we introduce Blaine. Who will be charming and charismatic and Sue and Kurt will love him."
Finn tutted under his breath. "Not likely." He said. "Sue Sylvester? As if she likes anyone."
"Well… You know what I mean. If Kurt likes him, it should be okay. His opinion could influence her, maybe."
"Excuse me, but..." Blaine was beginning to think that this plan wasn't as simple as the others seemed to think. He felt like some vital information might have been left out. "Who are Kurt and Sue?"
"Sue Sylvester owns the Moulin Rouge." Mike said, "And Kurt is, well…"
"He's a unicorn." Brittany interjected helpfully.
"A unicorn…?"
She nodded. "Mmhm, but he'll probably turn into a zebra soon. So we'd better hurry up with getting him to like you before his horn falls off and we miss out on his candy."
Finn must have seen the look of complete bafflement on his face and said reassuringly "We know, dude. We don't get her half the time either."
It was then that something floated down from the ceiling. Something shiny and silver. It landed gently in the remains on Blaine's drink. "What's-?"
More fell, growing in number from just a few around the room to seemingly hundreds of them within a matter of seconds. All gliding down to the tables like paper crystals.
"It's him," Finn said, nudging Blaine's arm. "The show's about to start."
"Show?"
The lights dimmed. More confetti fell. Conversations died, laugher ceased and the music was shut off. Around them, the patrons seemed to be holding their breath. Blaine was sure he could have heard a pin drop with ease.
"The show." Rachel said, her eyes already on the stage. Then-
The snap of a spot light turning on. All eyes turned upwards to the air above the stage where a circle of white light was targeted. For a moment, Blaine could see nothing in that circle, blinded by its brightness.
And then, he caught it. Movement, just a streak of it. Like somebody sitting in the heart of it had just crossed or uncrossed their legs. Blaine blinked more rapidly, intrigued now, and as his eyes grew used to the brightness, he noticed two ropes, elaborately decorated with what looked like vines and ruby red stones hanging from the ceiling… They reminded him of the rope swings he used to play on as a child but there was nothing childlike about this.
Fingers. He saw fingers, slender and pale, curl delicately around one of them.
And then he heard. In the silence, a single voice.
"I'm go-nna marry the night."
A soprano? Blaine didn't think he'd ever heard a voice quite like that before. The words were soft, dragged out. As if the singer up high on the rope swing knew that all eyes and ears were totally focused on him.
"I won't give up on my life,"
"I'm a warrior queen," movement, the figure leaning back. He could see the shape of whoever it was now, a dark, slim figure against the harshness of the spotlight. The shadow of his arm, stretched out behind him, the arch of his back was cast on the curtains behind him.
"Live passionately," an upward curve of his body, sitting upright once more. "Tonight,"
"I'm gonna marry the dark. Gonna make love to the stars" his hands pointed skywards, like a gymnast after an elegant dismount.
"I'm a soldier to my own emptiness, I'm a winner. I'm gonna marry the night,"
The swing was being lowered, slowly, getting closer to the stage's boards, closer to the dance floor, closer to them.
"I'm gonna marry the night."
Were there had been no musical accompaniment before, Blaine could now hear a beat begin to kick in from what seemed to be all around them. A beat that got louder and louder and faster and faster the lower the swing got. In time with it, Blaine felt his pulse begin to quicken.
Until-
The spotlight suddenly vanished and the entire hall was suddenly bathed in gold and Kurt gracefully stepped off onto the stage.
And Blaine would remember that moment for the rest of his life.
Kurt was
Doll-skinned, quirk nosed, chestnut haired, a black lace-edged shirt clinging tight to his slim hips and narrow waist and oh my God, Blaine Anderson, why have you never been to The Moulin Rouge before?
Kurt's face, almost pale as the moon outside was angelic but for the dangerous glitter in his eyes as he pushed away from the swing in perfect timing of a burst of music that hit Blaine's chest like a cannon ball and thirty or more dancers, all in the sultry colours of the devil entered from all sides to surround him.
"I'm gonna marry the night!"
His movements were confident, almost predatory but with the poise and grace of a doe. A dancer, spinning on his toes, someone who knew all eyes were on him and he loved it. The stage was made for people like Kurt.
"I'm not gonna cry anymore.
I'm gonna marry, the night,"
He moved to the center of the floor, he and all of the dancers now all doing the same routine, all fast paced dips and twists and rolls of their bodies. Blaine was sure if a photographer took a picture, then each stilled pose would look like it came straight from an avante garde and ahem, adult film.
"Leave nothing on this street to explore!"
"M-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry,
M-m-m-marry the night!"
It wasn't just him singing any more. The dancers were too, lips the colour of fairytale poison apples opening to join him.
"Oh m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry,
M-m-m-marry the night!"
Other people were rising in their seats now, stepping boldly onto the dance floor and almost immediately falling into place beside them. The routine wasn't synchronized any more, since most of the dancers were breaking away from the group to partner with the patrons.
"I'm gonna lace up my boots,
Throw on some leather and cruise,"
And oh my God, it was so worth coming to Paris without a real plan, so worth the banging piano in the early hours of the morning, so worth being part of some crazy scheme that he didn't fully understand, just to be here.
"Down the street that I love,
And my fishnet gloves, I'm a sinner."
Someone was nudging him in the ribs, Finn again. "You gotta get going, dude."
"Hm? What?" He was finding it quite hard to draw his eyes away.
"Then I'll go down to the bar,
But I won't cry anymore"
"Go dance!"
"Dance?"
He was pushed from the table, his chair all but pulled out from underneath him and Rachel gave him a none too gentle shove in the back. He had no choice but to join the others, caught up like a fallen leaf in the flow of their movements.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the bohemian troupe he'd left. Brittany was on her feet with Mike, the pair of them swaying in time to the beat, in time with each other. Rachel was looking smug again. Finn gave him a sympathetic look and then, his eyes widened with surprise and without looking away, he tapped Rachel's hand to get her attention. She too looked up and Blaine was about to ask what the problem was, what he'd done wrong to shock them so much, but before he could he felt a slim, cool hand close over his forearm. Blaine spun around and found himself staring into the face of…
Oh my God,
"No standing, I'm afraid." Kurt said, his voice was sweet even when speaking, "Just dancing."
His hand slipped down Blaine's arm to his wrist and Blaine let himself be led dumbly right into the heart of the throng. As they passed, Blaine couldn't help but notice the eyes of most of the people in the room. Of course they were watching. Kurt was so clearly the star, and had decided for some unknown reason to single out Blaine, new in town, new to the Moulin Rouge, new to life now he'd felt this touch on his arm, leaving him as unsteady and unsure as a newborn lamb.
I'll hold my whiskey up high,
Kiss the bartender twice, I'm a loser.
"Is this your first time to The Rouge?" Kurt asked, his hand rising to Blaine's shoulders as his hips swayed like a Cha Cha expert.
"Yes," Blaine replied. "And to Paris."
Kurt blinked, seemed surprised. "Really? I'd thought someone like you would be better travelled."
Blaine was about to ask what he meant when Kurt suddenly dipped out of sight. He dropped to the floor, his hands slipping fast down his waist, hips, thighs- and rose to stand again and continue the dance. When he straightened, Blaine realised that Kurt was actually a few inches taller than he was. How could someone that delicate looking be taller than him?
He tried again. "People like me?"
Kurt smiled, a coy knowing smile that Blaine was sure would be the death of him if he kept doing it. "And so modest!"
"I'm gonna marry the night.
I'm gonna marry the night."
He thought he was beginning to catch the rhythm properly now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd danced. His father forbade things like that and other than the occasional Waltz, Blaine was new to it all. He'd barely known dancing like this existed.
Nothing's too cool,
To take me from you,
The more confident he grew, the more he began to enjoy it. This twirl and weave and subtle press of their bodies. Kurt's eyes on him, always on him, no matter how close the other dancers grew. He felt like the center of not just the dance floor, but the universe. The warm, bright core, fiery and alive and hot.
Kurt laughed, a tinkling sound as Blaine grew bolder, bold enough to match his moves. "A duke who can dance! Now there's a surprise."
"A what?" Blaine asked, turning on his toes smoothly and breaking eye contact for no more than a second.
Kurt blushed. Blaine had no idea why, but he found it ridiculously attractive. "Of course, titles don't matter!" he said hastily. "I'm sure you're… deeper than that! So umm… What else do you do?"
"I-" His brain went blank for a moment because oh my God, that shimmy was distracting and "I-"
"New York is not just,
A town that you never knew."
"I'm a writer."
"A writer! And what kind of thing do you write?"
"I… Poetry, mostly."
"I love poetry. Why don't you…" No, there was nothing angelic about Kurt, about that upwards twitch of his rose-mouth, or the smolder in those ocean-colored eyes "Come and recite some to me this evening?"
"You… If you'd like. I mean… I'd be happy to!"
"Good. My room is above here, top floor. As close to the stars as you can get around here. Come up and see me in half an hour."
Before Blaine had a chance to answer, he was already turning away, his gaze lingering for a moment on him before the crowd seemed to swallow him up. "Don't be late."
Between the writhing bodies that surrounded him, Blaine caught sight of Rachel and Brittany high fiving over the table top, identical grins stretching across their faces, from ear to ear.
Part: 2/8?
Pairing: Eventually Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG? I think it's pretty safe!
Disclaimer: I own zilch. Glee own characters, Moulin Rouge owns basic plot line and Lady Gaga owns Marry the Night.
Summary: Glee/Moulin Rouge crossover fic! Blaine is a bohemian writer and a new arrival in Paris, where he meets a porcelain skinned courtesan.... Based on a prompt by indiearsonist
The Moulin Rouge was nothing like Blaine had been expecting. It was as huge and as high ceilinged as a cathedral with a crowded bar stretching from wall to red mirrored wall. A chandelier glittered from above the dance floor, like a cluster of newly cut diamonds, each fragment sharp and dazzling.
Men in suits and top hats and women in corsets and dresses so short they'd make Blaine's father faint with shock lounged on high stools and dark, velvet padded chairs, all of them drinking and laughing, the sound of their voices raised over the music was enough to make Blaine's head spin. How had he never been to a place like this before?
Brittany was already seated at one of the round wooden tables beside the stage when Blaine arrived, escorted by Finn, Rachel and Mike. She waved them over. In front of her, was a tray covered with a dangerous number of shot glasses. Red liquid, clear liquid, golden brown, bottle green… Blaine had never seen so much alcohol in one place in his life.
"I wasn't sure what you wanted." She shrugged.
"How did you pay for all these?" Mike asked incredulously, "You can barely pay the rent."
Brittany sipped from the glass closest to her and gave an uncharacteristically shy smile, her eyes flicking over the table top. "I didn't buy them. Santana did, I think she's trying to get me drunk."
"Who's Santana?" asked Blaine.
"She's over there," Finn said, nodding over to the bar. Blaine looked over, just in time to see a dark haired bar maid in a rather revealing black and red dress give their table a sarcastic little wave. Brittany waved back with enthusiasm.
So… If Blaine saw what he thought he was seeing that meant that… Brittany and Santana, like, Brittany and another girl? And that was… Okay? Judging by the faces of the others, not one of them seemed to find that strange or gross or wrong or… It was just normal?
He glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else had noticed that brief interaction. If they had, they didn't show it. Everyone was just… getting on with what they had been doing. No one stopped and looked. In fact… The two guys on the table opposite theirs, didn't they seem to be sitting kind of closely?
Before he could say anything to the others about it, about the kind of place they might be in (evidently the supposed-to-be forbidden, immoral kind), Finn turned to Rachel and said "Rach, you wanna go over the plan again?"
Rachel sighed. "It's easy" she said, sounding exasperated "We go in, and after the opening dance, we introduce Blaine. Who will be charming and charismatic and Sue and Kurt will love him."
Finn tutted under his breath. "Not likely." He said. "Sue Sylvester? As if she likes anyone."
"Well… You know what I mean. If Kurt likes him, it should be okay. His opinion could influence her, maybe."
"Excuse me, but..." Blaine was beginning to think that this plan wasn't as simple as the others seemed to think. He felt like some vital information might have been left out. "Who are Kurt and Sue?"
"Sue Sylvester owns the Moulin Rouge." Mike said, "And Kurt is, well…"
"He's a unicorn." Brittany interjected helpfully.
"A unicorn…?"
She nodded. "Mmhm, but he'll probably turn into a zebra soon. So we'd better hurry up with getting him to like you before his horn falls off and we miss out on his candy."
Finn must have seen the look of complete bafflement on his face and said reassuringly "We know, dude. We don't get her half the time either."
It was then that something floated down from the ceiling. Something shiny and silver. It landed gently in the remains on Blaine's drink. "What's-?"
More fell, growing in number from just a few around the room to seemingly hundreds of them within a matter of seconds. All gliding down to the tables like paper crystals.
"It's him," Finn said, nudging Blaine's arm. "The show's about to start."
"Show?"
The lights dimmed. More confetti fell. Conversations died, laugher ceased and the music was shut off. Around them, the patrons seemed to be holding their breath. Blaine was sure he could have heard a pin drop with ease.
"The show." Rachel said, her eyes already on the stage. Then-
The snap of a spot light turning on. All eyes turned upwards to the air above the stage where a circle of white light was targeted. For a moment, Blaine could see nothing in that circle, blinded by its brightness.
And then, he caught it. Movement, just a streak of it. Like somebody sitting in the heart of it had just crossed or uncrossed their legs. Blaine blinked more rapidly, intrigued now, and as his eyes grew used to the brightness, he noticed two ropes, elaborately decorated with what looked like vines and ruby red stones hanging from the ceiling… They reminded him of the rope swings he used to play on as a child but there was nothing childlike about this.
Fingers. He saw fingers, slender and pale, curl delicately around one of them.
And then he heard. In the silence, a single voice.
"I'm go-nna marry the night."
A soprano? Blaine didn't think he'd ever heard a voice quite like that before. The words were soft, dragged out. As if the singer up high on the rope swing knew that all eyes and ears were totally focused on him.
"I won't give up on my life,"
"I'm a warrior queen," movement, the figure leaning back. He could see the shape of whoever it was now, a dark, slim figure against the harshness of the spotlight. The shadow of his arm, stretched out behind him, the arch of his back was cast on the curtains behind him.
"Live passionately," an upward curve of his body, sitting upright once more. "Tonight,"
"I'm gonna marry the dark. Gonna make love to the stars" his hands pointed skywards, like a gymnast after an elegant dismount.
"I'm a soldier to my own emptiness, I'm a winner. I'm gonna marry the night,"
The swing was being lowered, slowly, getting closer to the stage's boards, closer to the dance floor, closer to them.
"I'm gonna marry the night."
Were there had been no musical accompaniment before, Blaine could now hear a beat begin to kick in from what seemed to be all around them. A beat that got louder and louder and faster and faster the lower the swing got. In time with it, Blaine felt his pulse begin to quicken.
Until-
The spotlight suddenly vanished and the entire hall was suddenly bathed in gold and Kurt gracefully stepped off onto the stage.
And Blaine would remember that moment for the rest of his life.
Kurt was
Doll-skinned, quirk nosed, chestnut haired, a black lace-edged shirt clinging tight to his slim hips and narrow waist and oh my God, Blaine Anderson, why have you never been to The Moulin Rouge before?
Kurt's face, almost pale as the moon outside was angelic but for the dangerous glitter in his eyes as he pushed away from the swing in perfect timing of a burst of music that hit Blaine's chest like a cannon ball and thirty or more dancers, all in the sultry colours of the devil entered from all sides to surround him.
"I'm gonna marry the night!"
His movements were confident, almost predatory but with the poise and grace of a doe. A dancer, spinning on his toes, someone who knew all eyes were on him and he loved it. The stage was made for people like Kurt.
"I'm not gonna cry anymore.
I'm gonna marry, the night,"
He moved to the center of the floor, he and all of the dancers now all doing the same routine, all fast paced dips and twists and rolls of their bodies. Blaine was sure if a photographer took a picture, then each stilled pose would look like it came straight from an avante garde and ahem, adult film.
"Leave nothing on this street to explore!"
"M-m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry,
M-m-m-marry the night!"
It wasn't just him singing any more. The dancers were too, lips the colour of fairytale poison apples opening to join him.
"Oh m-m-marry, m-m-m-marry,
M-m-m-marry the night!"
Other people were rising in their seats now, stepping boldly onto the dance floor and almost immediately falling into place beside them. The routine wasn't synchronized any more, since most of the dancers were breaking away from the group to partner with the patrons.
"I'm gonna lace up my boots,
Throw on some leather and cruise,"
And oh my God, it was so worth coming to Paris without a real plan, so worth the banging piano in the early hours of the morning, so worth being part of some crazy scheme that he didn't fully understand, just to be here.
"Down the street that I love,
And my fishnet gloves, I'm a sinner."
Someone was nudging him in the ribs, Finn again. "You gotta get going, dude."
"Hm? What?" He was finding it quite hard to draw his eyes away.
"Then I'll go down to the bar,
But I won't cry anymore"
"Go dance!"
"Dance?"
He was pushed from the table, his chair all but pulled out from underneath him and Rachel gave him a none too gentle shove in the back. He had no choice but to join the others, caught up like a fallen leaf in the flow of their movements.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the bohemian troupe he'd left. Brittany was on her feet with Mike, the pair of them swaying in time to the beat, in time with each other. Rachel was looking smug again. Finn gave him a sympathetic look and then, his eyes widened with surprise and without looking away, he tapped Rachel's hand to get her attention. She too looked up and Blaine was about to ask what the problem was, what he'd done wrong to shock them so much, but before he could he felt a slim, cool hand close over his forearm. Blaine spun around and found himself staring into the face of…
Oh my God,
"No standing, I'm afraid." Kurt said, his voice was sweet even when speaking, "Just dancing."
His hand slipped down Blaine's arm to his wrist and Blaine let himself be led dumbly right into the heart of the throng. As they passed, Blaine couldn't help but notice the eyes of most of the people in the room. Of course they were watching. Kurt was so clearly the star, and had decided for some unknown reason to single out Blaine, new in town, new to the Moulin Rouge, new to life now he'd felt this touch on his arm, leaving him as unsteady and unsure as a newborn lamb.
I'll hold my whiskey up high,
Kiss the bartender twice, I'm a loser.
"Is this your first time to The Rouge?" Kurt asked, his hand rising to Blaine's shoulders as his hips swayed like a Cha Cha expert.
"Yes," Blaine replied. "And to Paris."
Kurt blinked, seemed surprised. "Really? I'd thought someone like you would be better travelled."
Blaine was about to ask what he meant when Kurt suddenly dipped out of sight. He dropped to the floor, his hands slipping fast down his waist, hips, thighs- and rose to stand again and continue the dance. When he straightened, Blaine realised that Kurt was actually a few inches taller than he was. How could someone that delicate looking be taller than him?
He tried again. "People like me?"
Kurt smiled, a coy knowing smile that Blaine was sure would be the death of him if he kept doing it. "And so modest!"
"I'm gonna marry the night.
I'm gonna marry the night."
He thought he was beginning to catch the rhythm properly now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd danced. His father forbade things like that and other than the occasional Waltz, Blaine was new to it all. He'd barely known dancing like this existed.
Nothing's too cool,
To take me from you,
The more confident he grew, the more he began to enjoy it. This twirl and weave and subtle press of their bodies. Kurt's eyes on him, always on him, no matter how close the other dancers grew. He felt like the center of not just the dance floor, but the universe. The warm, bright core, fiery and alive and hot.
Kurt laughed, a tinkling sound as Blaine grew bolder, bold enough to match his moves. "A duke who can dance! Now there's a surprise."
"A what?" Blaine asked, turning on his toes smoothly and breaking eye contact for no more than a second.
Kurt blushed. Blaine had no idea why, but he found it ridiculously attractive. "Of course, titles don't matter!" he said hastily. "I'm sure you're… deeper than that! So umm… What else do you do?"
"I-" His brain went blank for a moment because oh my God, that shimmy was distracting and "I-"
"New York is not just,
A town that you never knew."
"I'm a writer."
"A writer! And what kind of thing do you write?"
"I… Poetry, mostly."
"I love poetry. Why don't you…" No, there was nothing angelic about Kurt, about that upwards twitch of his rose-mouth, or the smolder in those ocean-colored eyes "Come and recite some to me this evening?"
"You… If you'd like. I mean… I'd be happy to!"
"Good. My room is above here, top floor. As close to the stars as you can get around here. Come up and see me in half an hour."
Before Blaine had a chance to answer, he was already turning away, his gaze lingering for a moment on him before the crowd seemed to swallow him up. "Don't be late."
Between the writhing bodies that surrounded him, Blaine caught sight of Rachel and Brittany high fiving over the table top, identical grins stretching across their faces, from ear to ear.