Fic: Bait (1/4)
Title: Bait
Artist: dani_elizabethx
Word Count: 6,634 of 27,745
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Kurt Hummel, Cooper Anderson, Noah Puckerman, OFC, OMC, Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: mentions of prostitution, drugs, and institutionalized homophobia
Summary: AU. Blaine Anderson is finally a college graduate... but he accidentally solicits Kurt, an undercover cop, for sex within hours of getting his diploma. Things get messier from there, Cooper gets far too much pleasure out of the situation, and Blaine develops an unfortunate crush.
Note: This is officially the longest thing I have ever written and it has been quite the journey. It was fun, but probably more stressful than anything else I've done thus far. Many, many thanks to my incredible beta anodrethlluvine and my amazing artist dani_elizabethx. You both have kept me sane for the past few months. Also, thanks to Lucie and Alura, who made my shaky legal reasoning feel slightly more stable.
Blaine Anderson was officially a college graduate. It had taken eight semesters of classes, four summers of willingly selling his soul to a really awesome bar in the big hipster neighborhood on the outskirts of Columbus, and one excruciatingly long semester of student teaching, but he had done it. He was out of school (well, at least on the student side of things), he was certified to teach music to students in grades K-12 in the state of Ohio, and he was ready to take on the world.
Well, he was ready to move in with his older brother and to bartend for the next eight months until the start of the next school year. After that, he’d be ready to take on the world of teaching music.
He pulled his mug out from the Keurig machine and took a sip before sliding onto one of the stools at the bar in the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet, but his roommates - all seniors with another semester left to go - had all headed home for the holidays after their finals ended the week before. He had stayed behind to finish packing his things so that he could move in with Cooper, where the rent was cheaper and he had his own parking space behind the building. Besides, his brother was really trying to make the effort to get to know him a bit better, and Blaine was hoping that it would go a little smoother this time around now that he felt like more of an adult.
He sipped at the coffee again before setting it down on the bar and reaching for the Saturday newspaper he had bought earlier that day just for this purpose. He was an adult, so he was going to do adult things like reading the paper. (Okay, so maybe it was a little nerdy, but there wasn’t anyone there to judge him for it.)
He unfolded the paper and studied the headlines on the front page. Apparently there had been some holiday parade that morning that he hadn’t even heard about, prostitution rates were on the rise in a part of town he hadn’t been to in years, and a local nine-year old girl named Emily had made it to the top ten contestants in a national spelling bee.
It wasn’t really the most exciting thing, reading the newspaper. But, alas, that is what adults do, and Blaine was determined to start off adulthood on the right foot.
Blaine flipped through a few more pages, glancing over headlines here and there. He didn’t see anything even remotely interesting, and he set down the paper with a huff. Taking a long sip of coffee, he looked around surreptitiously to make sure no one was secretly watching him before flipping a few more pages to get to the comics section.
That was much better. So what if it wasn’t actually news? It was still in the newspaper. That definitely still counted as doing something adult-like.
Ten minutes and two pages of comic strips later, Blaine leaned back on the stool and folded the newspaper up. He looked at it strangely. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it; didn’t adults usually leave them on the bus or on tables in coffee shops? Neither of those was really an option. He knew his dad got the paper every morning but he never came home with it so he had no idea where it ended up. He shrugged and set it in the center of the bar. Maybe he’d use it for packing fragile items.
Moving in with someone who wasn’t a fellow student - well, not a student, since he wasn’t one himself anymore - that was a very adult thing to do, too.
His roommates had told him he was crazy for working the night after he graduated, but everyone else had pretty much already gone home to visit family and high school friends for the holidays and Blaine actually enjoyed going to work. He hadn’t even thought to request the evening off in advance, and he was pretty sure at least one of his regulars would buy him a congratulatory drink.
Sometimes he took the bus in on the weekend, but this time he drove since he was planning on crashing at Cooper’s apartment at a hopefully-decent hour after last call (it was weird for Blaine to think of it as his own place, especially since most of his stuff was still sitting in various stages of being packed at his house). He pulled into one of the employee parking spots at about ten-to-eight and went in the back entrance to drop his coat and scarf off in the break room.
Veronica was waiting for him behind the bar when he came through the old, creaky wooden door with the Employees Only sign that was falling off on one side. She was a fiery redhead with a personality to match, though Blaine knew she was a sweetheart inside-somewhere deep inside. Tonight she was dressed in a deep purple tank top and a denim mini skirt on top of black leggings, and the shooting star tattoo on her back was just visible above the line of her clothing.
“Why do you always have to look so put together?” she asked as he flipped up the countertop to join her behind the bar.
He sighed. “I’m wearing a polo shirt, Roni, not a tuxedo.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed. “I’m just glad you’re here. I’ve needed to take my fifteen for the last hour.”
Blaine rolled his eyes before looking around to see how crowded it was. There were two men, probably in their late 20s, sitting at one end of the bar, each with an almost-full beer next to him. The only other patron was one of their regulars, a petite college student named Amy. He smiled to her before turning back to Roni.
“Get out of here,” he said. “I think I can handle this bunch on my own.”
“I wasn’t really giving you a choice,” she replied before maneuvering around him to get out of the bar. She slapped his ass on the way by.
“Y’know, that would be a lot more scandalizing if you didn’t do it twelve times a night.”
She didn’t turn around but did raise her middle finger in salute before disappearing out the front door, a cigarette already out in her other hand. The door closed behind her with a thud and Blaine rolled his neck on his shoulders.
“She’s in a good mood today.”
Blaine turned to face Amy and grimaced. “Something like that at least. Can I get you a refill?” he asked, nodding at the empty mug in front of her.
“Do you really have to ask?” She smirked.
“Figured I’d be polite,” Blaine said with a shrug before raising his voice. “Unlike some of us!”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I really don’t think she can hear you outside.”
Blaine filled a clean mug with Yuengling and slid it onto the bar in front of Amy before clearing away the empty one. “So what are you doing here tonight?” he asked.
She swallowed down a quarter of her new drink before answering. “What do you mean? I’m always here.”
“Yeah, but all of the other college students who come here on Saturday nights are at home with mom and pop right now.” He dipped the dirty mug in a sink of soapy water and pulled it out to rinse it off.
Amy tilted her head at him. “Hi, Pot. My name’s Kettle. Why aren’t you at home with mom and pop?”
“I’m not going home for a few days,” he explained. “I graduated this afternoon and I’m still in the process of packing up my things before moving in with my brother.”
She actually squealed with excitement when he finished speaking. “Okay, that’s it.” She pushed her mug to the side. “Two Jägerbombs please!”
Blaine laughed. “Coming right up.” He glanced at the two men at the other end of the bar as he made the drinks; they were deep in conversation and not nearly as deep into their drinks.
He set Amy’s drinks on the bar next to her but she immediately slid one back over to him. “Oh come on,” she said. “You knew one of these was for you.” Blaine picked it back up and clinked it against her glass in toast. “Congratulations!” she shouted.
They were both gulping down their drinks when Roni came back in from outside. “Drinking with customers already, Pippin?” she scoffed. “I only left you alone for fifteen minutes.”
“More like twenty,” Blaine said, nodding at the clock on the wall by the door and ignoring the hobbit jab.
She rolled her eyes and rejoined him behind the bar, taking care of the empty glasses herself.
“It was a congratulatory drink, anyway,” Amy spoke up.
Roni wiped her hands off on a towel draped off the counter by one of the sinks. “For not wearing a bowtie for the first time in forever?”
“He graduated today.”
“Aww, baby Blaine is all grown up!” Roni grinned before reaching over to pinch his cheek.
Blaine swatted her hand away. “Oh, give it a rest.”
“Nope!” Roni grinned devilishly, though she kept her hand to herself. “You’re a big boy now! Are you gonna leave us for the big, scary real world?”
“Nah. I’ll try and get on some sub lists for the rest of this year but it’s kind of hard to get a teaching job in the middle of winter.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Amy said as she picked up her beer again.
Roni rolled her eyes. “You two are disgustingly optimistic.”
Blaine elbowed her in the side. “Oh, lighten up.”
Roni scowled and turned her back on them to get a drink for a younger couple that had just sat down near the two men at the other end of the bar.
Blaine leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in Amy’s ear. “You’re right; she is in a good mood.”
Amy laughed, loud but feminine. Blaine noticed Roni’s shoulders stiffen and he was positive she would have made some sort of comment if she were near them, but she continued talking to the customers.
The night continued on like that-Amy drinking a bit too much, Roni being her grouchy self, and Blaine teaming up with Amy to do everything in their power to push Roni’s buttons-until fifteen minutes after last call when the last patron left, stumbling his way down the street to his apartment building a few doors down.
Blaine mopped off the bar while Roni took the cash drawer to the back to count it. He finished quickly and moved to the two lone tables by the window, wiping them off and flipping their chairs up on top of them. He twisted the locks on the main door and pulled the chain across before going back to the break room.
“Need me to do anything else?” he asked, already wrapping his houndstooth scarf around his neck.
“Nah,” Roni called over her shoulder from her perch at the desk in the corner. She tapped the pen in her hand against the wood of the desk. “Get out of here, and congrats on graduating.”
Blaine grinned-that was practically Mother Teresa behavior for her. “Thanks, Roni,” he said, then patted her on the head and headed back out to his car before she got the chance to snap at him for it.
He preferred leaving the bar at this time. Whenever he got out just after two o’clock, he had to deal with all of the drunkards who still thought they could drive after several hours in a bar. At least a little bit later, the roads were mostly clear.
Driving to Cooper’s was from the bar was weird. Blaine knew how to get there easily from his own house, but coming from a different direction completely threw him off. After driving on the same street for a lot longer than he thought it took to get to the apartment building, he started thinking that he had maybe missed a turn, and if he had, it was probably a good distance back. He sighed and looped around the nearest block, turning back onto the same street in the opposite direction. He twisted the volume dial for his radio two clicks to the left to help himself concentrate on figuring out where he had gone wrong.
After a minute or two, he noticed someone walking slowly along the sidewalk on the right side of the road. He bit his lip as two thoughts battled quickly through his mind. First, the neighborhood he was in really wasn’t the safest, and he didn’t like the idea of letting this person wander around alone this late at night. Second, he wondered if this person might be one of the reasons this neighborhood was so dangerous to begin with.
He let the battle wage on for a split second longer before coming to a decision. He slowed down and pulled up next to the stranger and wound down his passenger window. “Hey,” he called out. “You need a ride?”
The stranger passed through a beam of light from a lamp post on his way to the curb. Blaine blinked. The man was wearing shorts that were short enough that he thought only Richard Simmons was ballsy enough to try to pull off. He rested his forearms against the open window and leaned in, and Blaine found it hard to drag his eyes up to the man’s face, because his chest was covered in a black mesh tank top that made the light color of his skin pop even in the shadowy night. When he did look up, the man’s face was too dark to see.
“I’ve got a room over at the Super 8,” he said in a voice much higher than Blaine had expected.
He scrunched his face up. That motel was well-known to be sketchy and not at all the sort of place Blaine wanted to find himself anywhere near. This man must be in pretty desperate straits to have resorted to that motel. Another short war was fought in his mind, but he quickly hit the power lock button on the door. “C’mon, get in. You’ve got to be freezing out there.”
The man climbed in and buckled up. “The heat does feel good,” he said, forcing out an awkward chuckle.
Blaine turned the heat up a notch and pulled away from the curb. He was pretty sure he could make it to the motel on his own.
The stranger rubbed his hands together for warmth and opened his mouth twice to speak before any sound came out. “So, uh, what’re you looking for?”
“Hm?” Blaine asked. Had he missed something?
“You know,” he began and swallowed before continuing. “Something quick or… or the real deal?”
Blaine furrowed his brow. He thought back to when he picked the stranger up, but no, the questions really didn’t make any sense. He wondered vaguely if this was some sort of weird idea of small talk. Was he asking about what kind of relationship Blaine wanted? He figured it would be easiest to just go with the flow, drop the guy off, and never have to see him again.
“I’m always looking for the real deal,” he said.
Blaine saw the man nod tightly out of his peripheral vision, but he didn’t say anything. Luckily the motel came into sight about a minute later, so the silence wasn’t too awkward. He was flicking his turn signal on to turn into the parking lot when the man spoke up again. “How’s fifty sound?”
Blaine blinked, and then realized the guy was talking about money. “Oh, no, you really don’t have to,” he said. He had just stopped to be a nice guy, and fifty dollars was way too high anyway.
“I know I don’t have to,” he replied, smiling kind of flirtatiously. “But just come inside with me. I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
Warning bells went off in Blaine’s head. This sounded like the beginning of some CSI episode where a guy was found murdered and gruesomely dismembered. At the same time, he was in a confined space with the guy right now, and he wasn’t sure he would take no for an answer. Getting him out of the car was probably the first step, and he reminded himself that the guy had probably just left his wallet in the hotel room. It wasn’t like he had any room for it in his pants.
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. He turned the car off and pocketed the key, making sure that it was easy access for his escape.
“Fifty?”
“Yeah, great,” Blaine said, his heart pounding out the fast beat of a night club song in his chest.
They both stepped out of the car, and Blaine closed the door without locking it. He turned and followed the stranger across the parking lot, toward the motel. He lost himself in thoughts of timing his retreat to his car properly to get out of there safely, but all of a sudden the empty night air was filled with lots of shouting and beams of bright light were coming out of nowhere.
Before he knew it, Blaine was pinned to the ground, his hands wrestled behind his back, and someone was sitting on top of his legs. Images of his brother and his parents and the Warblers and the kids from his student teaching assignment flashed through his head. He was too young to die. He hadn’t said his goodbyes. This couldn’t be happening.
As soon as it all started, though, he felt some of the pressure on his back lighten. He felt something cold on his wrists, and someone behind him was trying to pull him upward with it. He helped them-he figured it was better to save his strength to fight when he felt like he had a better chance of getting away-and struggled to stand up on shaky feet. The noise had gotten a lot quieter since he was pulled upright, and he forced himself to try to calm down and listen. He needed to know what was going on if he was ever going to get out of this situation.
A hand waved itself in front of his face and snapped loudly. He blinked and refocused his attention on the situation around him, trying to get his rapid breathing under control.
The man who had led him here was standing about twenty feet away, near the door of one of the motel rooms. He was talking with- Blaine blinked. He was talking with a man who looked to be dressed like a police officer.
A hand waved in front of his face again, and Blaine turned his attention to its owner. It belonged to another man dressed as a cop, and he even had a badge on his shirt and a nametag that read Officer Jennings. Blaine twisted his head to the side, and he realized that there was another man and a woman, both dressed in the same blue uniform, making their way over toward him.
What was going on?
“You got any weapons on you?” the man in front of him asked, and he didn’t look happy.
“What?” Blaine responded, taken off guard. He shook his head to clear it. “No?” he said, turning the answer into a confused question.
“Okay, I’m gonna pat you down now.”
Blaine felt his face heating as the man-was he actually a police officer?-grabbed his shoulders and moved efficiently down his arms, in closer to his torso, and finally down around both of his legs. He pulled out his wallet, cell phone, and keys when he got to his pockets.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked from his right.
He really had no clue what was going on, but decided whatever the situation was, it was probably best to just do as he was told and answer their questions honestly. “Blaine Anderson.”
The man who had patted him down flipped open his wallet and Blaine caught him nod at the others.
“Alright, Blaine Anderson. You are under arrest for soliciting to engage in sexual activity for hire. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you…”
The woman’s words faded out and the sound of the rhythmic passage of blood through his veins took hold. The cold thing against his wrists was handcuffs. He really was under arrest, and sexual activity for hire… they thought he had picked up a prostitute. From the way the man had been talking with that other officer, it seemed like he had been in on it, too.
How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?
Lost in thought, Blaine found his legs getting weaker and all of a sudden he tumbled sideways into the first policeman.
“Whoa there, kid,” he said, catching Blaine and helping him stand upright again. “Let’s get you sat down.” He led him over to one of the police cars parked around the corner and hidden from view in most of the lot. Blaine groaned as more details caught up with him. “There we go,” the officer said, helping him into the back seat of one of the cruisers and saying something Blaine didn’t catch before closing the door on him.
Blaine felt trapped as he looked around at the metal isolating him from the front of the car. He let his head fall back against the headrest and allowed his eyes to drift closed.
Things were a blur when Blaine arrived at the city jail. Later on, he would remember bits and pieces-the smell of the perfume the woman was wearing when she took his finger prints electronically, and the sound of the camera shutter that followed five seconds after every “turn left” when they were taking his mug shots.
He finally started to come to once they had sat him down in front of a tiny cubicle with a telephone hanging on the wall. He had been so out of it that they had written down the important information-like the name of the prison and the amount of bail-on a slip of paper so that he could remember it all when he talked to whomever he was going to call.
That was the hard part, figuring out who to call. His roommates were all home with their families, and Roni would kill him for waking her up when she’s probably only been asleep for an hour or two. His parents were definitely out of the question, and that left, well… Cooper. He would never hear the end of it, but he was definitely his best option right now.
He told the number to dial to the officer waiting by his side and picked up the receiver. The phone rang once and was quickly picked up on the second ring. He heard the recording asking if the recipient would accept collect charges from the Franklin County Corrections Center and then he was patched through to his brother.
“This better be fucking good to wake me up at four thirty in the fucking morning.”
Blaine rested his head against the wall of the cubicle. This was going to be fun. “Hello to you, too, Coop.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone and it went on so long that Blaine worried that the call had been dropped. Just as he was about to ask if he was still there, Cooper spoke up. “Oh my god. Blaine? Is that you?”
Blaine sighed.
“It is you! What did Mr. Goody-two-shoes do?!”
“Come on, Coop, I really need your help here.”
“I’ll do whatever you need as long as you tell me what they got you for. Have you been hiding a coke problem? I know how common that stuff is with-“
“No, it wasn’t drugs,” he said, and Blaine could practically hear his brother deflating on the other end of the phone. He considered trying to deflect his question again, but he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. Cooper always won their arguments. “It was for picking up a prostitute,” he said finally.
He didn’t get a response immediately, but then Cooper started laughing hysterically. “Are you serious?”
“No, I’m just playing an elaborate prank on you,” Blaine snapped. “Of course I’m serious.”
“Geeze, calm down, squirt. If you were having trouble getting some you should have totally let me fix you up with someone.”
“I didn’t actually do it,” Blaine insisted.
“Uh huh,” he replied, though he sounded far from convinced. “Now what exactly do you need from me?”
“Well,” Blaine said, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “Bail’s kind of expensive, and I don’t have the money to cover it.”
“How much?”
Blaine breathed in deeply through his nose. “Twenty-five hundred dollars… in cash.”
“Two and a half grand?!” Cooper repeated. “Way to go.”
Blaine decided to ignore his extra commentary. “Can you help me or not?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
“Thanks,” he replied, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Anytime.” He could practically see his brother’s devilish grin.
“See you soon.”
“Don’t drop any soap. Though maybe that would solve your problem…”
“Goodbye, Cooper,” he said and hung up the phone, not waiting for a response.
The officer standing behind him cleared his throat. “Come on, this way.”
Blaine stood up and followed him. He was given a red jumpsuit to change into and was herded into a small changing room. It wasn’t really a jumpsuit-it looked more like the scrubs nurses wore in a hospital-and he was a little bit disappointed that it wasn’t orange or striped black on white. He felt strangely a little bit cheated.
After he emerged from the tiny room, he handed over his clothes and watched them be put into a plastic bin labeled with piece of masking tape that had a long number written on it in sharpie. A flat pillow and a thin sleeping bag were shoved into his arms and he was led to a waiting area outside a group of elevators. A group of other men in the same red jumpsuits was already assembled, and Blaine did his best to stay out of their way. A lot of them had tattoos and piercings (which, while it wasn’t his thing, he really didn’t have anything against) but what scared him was their size. He was pretty sure any one of them would be able to squash him in less than a second of he wanted to, but he didn’t think he’d be lucky enough for them to make it that fast.
Luckily, he went unnoticed for the time being. Some period of time later-Blaine had lost track of when it was hours ago, but the sun had started to rise-a guard came by and ushered them onto one of the elevators. They went up a few floors and were herded out into a new section of the jail that looked just like the part they had just left. They walked down a hallway for about thirty feet before the guard stopped outside a heavy metal door.
“Alright. Masterson, Torres, Anderson, and Peters, come with me.”
The biggest man stepped forward, as did a smaller Latino man and a tall, skinny man. Blaine looked back at the group as he felt his feet bringing him forward, and he saw another guard keeping an eye on the men who weren’t joining them.
The door closed behind them with a loud crack, and Blaine took a chance to look around at the room they were in. It was fairly large, with a grouping of couches and chairs in the middle. Two televisions were hung from posts in the center of the room, and a few tables and chairs were on the other side of the room. A long row of metal doors lined the wall, and a staircase on the left led up to a second floor of sorts, with another row of doors across the back wall.
“Okay, fellas,” the guard said, and Blaine gulped. “Welcome to Pod 4C. Showers are up the stairs and to the left, and your outdoor space is straight back. Masterson, you’re in cell 6. Torres, cell 17. Anderson, 22, and Peters, 43. Any questions?”
Blaine shook his head before his brain could even process enough to know if he did have any questions or not, and really, he just wanted to know when his brother would get his ass down to bail him out, but that wasn’t something that anyone else could answer for him. None of the other men spoke up and the guard turned quickly and left, the sound of the door’s lock clicking shut jolting Blaine into action.
The other three were already headed over to their assigned cells. It took him a minute, but Blaine realized that there were numbers above each of the doors along the wall. The first door on the left on the bottom floor had a number 1 above it, and the one next to it had a 2. The numbers continued sequentially to 25 on the bottom floor and continued with 26-50 up top.
He made his way slowly into number 22, and he was glad he had opened the door quietly when he realized the cell was already occupied. A man with a horribly outdated mohawk lay asleep on the bottom bunk, which was little more than a sheet of metal bolted into the far wall. The top bunk was probably not even three feet above him, and it was void of bedding. Blaine set the sleeping bag and pillow down on it gently and took in the rest of the room.
It was small. It was probably a very good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic. The bunks jutted out into the room, and there was probably about half a foot of empty space on either end. A toilet without a lid was tucked into the corner of the room by the other man’s feet and a small metal chair that looked horribly uncomfortable was bolted to the ground in the other corner. Blaine was standing in pretty much the only free space in the entire cell.
His exhaustion suddenly caught up with and overwhelmed him. He climbed up onto the bed and didn’t even get the sleeping bag unrolled before he passed out.
He woke up groggily some time later and it took him a minute of blinking into the relative darkness to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. He rolled over and groaned as his body protested the amount of time it had spent on the hard metal. He was a bit surprised that he had gotten up on his own instead of having some guard come get him to let him know his brother had bailed him out.
Climbing off of the bunk, he was grateful to notice that the room’s other occupant had already gotten up and left. He stretched his back like a cat and relieved himself in the toilet in the corner before realizing he had no idea what to do. The thought of staying in the tiny cell gave him the heebie jeebies, but he was worried that the group of men in the pod might eat him alive if he left.
He started to turn back to climb onto his bunk again when the door opened.
“I thought I saw movement,” said the man with the mohawk who had been sleeping on the bottom bunk when Blaine had arrived. He threw an arm out as wide as he could. “Welcome.”
Blaine hesitated for a split second, but he knew he would have to radiate confidence if he were going to survive this in one piece. “Hi,” he said coolly.
The other man stared at him for a moment before holding out his hand. “Name’s Puck.”
Blaine took his hand and shook it. “Blaine.”
The guy-Puck-barked out a laugh. “Dude, you gotta get a better name than that if you’re gonna last around here.”
Blaine felt heat rising to his face, and he really didn’t know how to respond to that. At least the guy didn’t seem ready to kick his ass, and maybe he could trust him. “What do you suggest?”
“What’s your last name?”
“Anderson.”
Puck frowned in thought. “Yeah, that’ll do. For now at least. We may need to do something about it later on, but at least it’ll help you get through today.” He paused and looked him up and down again. “You look like fresh meat.”
“I- yeah. My first time,” Blaine admitted, hoping he sounded tougher than he felt.
“What’cha in for?” Puck asked as he leaned back against the wall of the cell.
He considered his choices but decided to go with the simplest.
“Prostitution.”
“No way!” Puck said a bit too loudly. He let his eyes roam Blaine’s body more obviously, as if he were appraising him. “Hm, I can see it.”
“What?” Blaine asked. “Oh, no, I didn’t- I mean, I’m not-”
“Relax, dude,” Puck said, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s all cool in here. Except the rapists, that’s so not cool with anyone, but they’re in another pod pretty far away.”
Blaine blinked. He hadn’t even thought that he might be talking with someone like that. “So, uh, what’re you here for?”
Puck shrugged, and Blaine felt a little better getting the attention off himself. “Sellin’ drugs.”
Blaine winced at the thought, but he thought it came across as sympathetic.
“Come on, man, let’s get you introduced to the guys.”
Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but Puck already had the door open and was waiting for him to join him. He took a deep breath and told himself that if he’d survived last night, he could survive this.
To his surprise, no one really noticed them at first. There were a few sitting at the tables with a pencil in hand and a sheet of paper in front of them, but most of them were relaxing on the couches and staring at the televisions, both of which were playing ESPN News.
Puck sat down backwards on one of the metal chairs that was nearest the grouping of couches, and Blaine found an empty spot on a couch near him. He tried not to give off the impression that he was scared out of his mind, even though it was completely true.
“Yo, dudes, this is Anderson,” Puck said, loud enough to be heard over the sports channel. A few of the men raised a hand to wave, but most of them stayed focused on the television. Blaine noticed that some of them weren’t wearing the same red that he and Puck were.
“What’re the colors for?” he asked quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself.
Puck blinked and looked around, probably trying to figure out which colors he meant. “Oh,” he said a moment later. “It’s mostly red for dudes and a darker red for chicks,” he explained, and Blaine nodded, having seen a couple women last night who had been brought in around the same time. “The guys in green are on kitchen duty, so they’ll be leavin’ soon to help with lunch, and the ones in blue volunteered to clean and shit, but they’re out cleanin’ right now so you don’t see any of ‘em. That guy in white over there in the corner is on suicide watch, makes sure none of the rest of us wanna find our own way outta here, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
Blaine smiled a bit, thankful that this guy was willing to help him out and didn’t seem interested in beating him up or anything. “What about those guys over there?” he asked, pointing towards the four men-three in red and one in green-who were writing at the tables.
“They’re taking some GED class or somethin’.” He shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, ‘cause there’s no way I’d do homework even with nothin’ better to do, but there are a few who seem to like it.”
“Hm,” Blaine hummed. Some of the stuff that Puck was telling him was actually really interesting, and he had had no idea that there were things like classes inside of the jail. He would have to hold off judgement until after he got to know someone other than Puck, but maybe the people in here weren’t all as bad as they seemed from the outside.
Blaine surprisingly made it through the rest of the day without much incident. He was beyond frustrated with his brother, but time actually passed pretty quickly with Puck to chat with. He met a lot of the other guys in the same pod as him, and for the most part they just seemed like regular guys who had done something stupid. It probably helped that he was in one of the lowest- security pods, but the worst he had heard was some guy who had gotten into a bar fight one too many times.
No one harassed had him for not being a big macho guy, and he managed to fall asleep with relative ease, Puck’s deep, steady breaths soothing to his frayed nerves.
When he woke up Monday morning, it took him a minute to realize where he was. The bunk he was on was way too hard, and the pillow wasn’t nearly fluffy enough, but he still felt strangely rested. He rolled over and saw the toilet sitting in the corner of the room and everything came flooding back to him. He climbed down and slipped quietly from the cell, settling down quickly on one of the couches that were much more comfortable than the bed.
He sat there, staring off into space for a while, just thinking. He figured he felt so rested because he actually got enough sleep for once, but from there his mind wandered to everything he had seen and heard over the past twenty-four hours and then to where in the hell his brother was to get him out of there. He sighed and got up, turning the television on. Puck had taught him enough to leave it on ESPN-if there was anything that the guys hated in there, it was watching something other than the sports channel.
He watched mindlessly for some time, and a handful of others had gotten up to join him on the couches and armchairs. The newscasters had just gotten on the topic of how the injury of one of the Seahawks’ safeties was going to affect their chances in the playoffs when he heard the buzz-and-click that he had already learned to associate with the opening of a door.
None of the other guys turned away from the television to see who was coming into the pod, so he decided not to look either. A second or two passed and Blaine had almost put the door out of his mind when he heard, “Anderson!” from somewhere up and behind him.
He jumped at the sound of his name, standing quickly and turning around. A guard was standing just inside the door, looking around, trying to figure out which man he was looking for. Blaine started to walk forward.
“Ah, there you are,” the guard said, waving Blaine toward him. “Come on, you’re outta here.”
Blaine breathed out quickly in relief. Cooper had finally come through for him.
Part 2
Artist: dani_elizabethx
Word Count: 6,634 of 27,745
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Kurt Hummel, Cooper Anderson, Noah Puckerman, OFC, OMC, Kurt/Blaine
Warnings: mentions of prostitution, drugs, and institutionalized homophobia
Summary: AU. Blaine Anderson is finally a college graduate... but he accidentally solicits Kurt, an undercover cop, for sex within hours of getting his diploma. Things get messier from there, Cooper gets far too much pleasure out of the situation, and Blaine develops an unfortunate crush.
Note: This is officially the longest thing I have ever written and it has been quite the journey. It was fun, but probably more stressful than anything else I've done thus far. Many, many thanks to my incredible beta anodrethlluvine and my amazing artist dani_elizabethx. You both have kept me sane for the past few months. Also, thanks to Lucie and Alura, who made my shaky legal reasoning feel slightly more stable.
Blaine Anderson was officially a college graduate. It had taken eight semesters of classes, four summers of willingly selling his soul to a really awesome bar in the big hipster neighborhood on the outskirts of Columbus, and one excruciatingly long semester of student teaching, but he had done it. He was out of school (well, at least on the student side of things), he was certified to teach music to students in grades K-12 in the state of Ohio, and he was ready to take on the world.
Well, he was ready to move in with his older brother and to bartend for the next eight months until the start of the next school year. After that, he’d be ready to take on the world of teaching music.
He pulled his mug out from the Keurig machine and took a sip before sliding onto one of the stools at the bar in the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet, but his roommates - all seniors with another semester left to go - had all headed home for the holidays after their finals ended the week before. He had stayed behind to finish packing his things so that he could move in with Cooper, where the rent was cheaper and he had his own parking space behind the building. Besides, his brother was really trying to make the effort to get to know him a bit better, and Blaine was hoping that it would go a little smoother this time around now that he felt like more of an adult.
He sipped at the coffee again before setting it down on the bar and reaching for the Saturday newspaper he had bought earlier that day just for this purpose. He was an adult, so he was going to do adult things like reading the paper. (Okay, so maybe it was a little nerdy, but there wasn’t anyone there to judge him for it.)
He unfolded the paper and studied the headlines on the front page. Apparently there had been some holiday parade that morning that he hadn’t even heard about, prostitution rates were on the rise in a part of town he hadn’t been to in years, and a local nine-year old girl named Emily had made it to the top ten contestants in a national spelling bee.
It wasn’t really the most exciting thing, reading the newspaper. But, alas, that is what adults do, and Blaine was determined to start off adulthood on the right foot.
Blaine flipped through a few more pages, glancing over headlines here and there. He didn’t see anything even remotely interesting, and he set down the paper with a huff. Taking a long sip of coffee, he looked around surreptitiously to make sure no one was secretly watching him before flipping a few more pages to get to the comics section.
That was much better. So what if it wasn’t actually news? It was still in the newspaper. That definitely still counted as doing something adult-like.
Ten minutes and two pages of comic strips later, Blaine leaned back on the stool and folded the newspaper up. He looked at it strangely. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it; didn’t adults usually leave them on the bus or on tables in coffee shops? Neither of those was really an option. He knew his dad got the paper every morning but he never came home with it so he had no idea where it ended up. He shrugged and set it in the center of the bar. Maybe he’d use it for packing fragile items.
Moving in with someone who wasn’t a fellow student - well, not a student, since he wasn’t one himself anymore - that was a very adult thing to do, too.
His roommates had told him he was crazy for working the night after he graduated, but everyone else had pretty much already gone home to visit family and high school friends for the holidays and Blaine actually enjoyed going to work. He hadn’t even thought to request the evening off in advance, and he was pretty sure at least one of his regulars would buy him a congratulatory drink.
Sometimes he took the bus in on the weekend, but this time he drove since he was planning on crashing at Cooper’s apartment at a hopefully-decent hour after last call (it was weird for Blaine to think of it as his own place, especially since most of his stuff was still sitting in various stages of being packed at his house). He pulled into one of the employee parking spots at about ten-to-eight and went in the back entrance to drop his coat and scarf off in the break room.
Veronica was waiting for him behind the bar when he came through the old, creaky wooden door with the Employees Only sign that was falling off on one side. She was a fiery redhead with a personality to match, though Blaine knew she was a sweetheart inside-somewhere deep inside. Tonight she was dressed in a deep purple tank top and a denim mini skirt on top of black leggings, and the shooting star tattoo on her back was just visible above the line of her clothing.
“Why do you always have to look so put together?” she asked as he flipped up the countertop to join her behind the bar.
He sighed. “I’m wearing a polo shirt, Roni, not a tuxedo.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed. “I’m just glad you’re here. I’ve needed to take my fifteen for the last hour.”
Blaine rolled his eyes before looking around to see how crowded it was. There were two men, probably in their late 20s, sitting at one end of the bar, each with an almost-full beer next to him. The only other patron was one of their regulars, a petite college student named Amy. He smiled to her before turning back to Roni.
“Get out of here,” he said. “I think I can handle this bunch on my own.”
“I wasn’t really giving you a choice,” she replied before maneuvering around him to get out of the bar. She slapped his ass on the way by.
“Y’know, that would be a lot more scandalizing if you didn’t do it twelve times a night.”
She didn’t turn around but did raise her middle finger in salute before disappearing out the front door, a cigarette already out in her other hand. The door closed behind her with a thud and Blaine rolled his neck on his shoulders.
“She’s in a good mood today.”
Blaine turned to face Amy and grimaced. “Something like that at least. Can I get you a refill?” he asked, nodding at the empty mug in front of her.
“Do you really have to ask?” She smirked.
“Figured I’d be polite,” Blaine said with a shrug before raising his voice. “Unlike some of us!”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I really don’t think she can hear you outside.”
Blaine filled a clean mug with Yuengling and slid it onto the bar in front of Amy before clearing away the empty one. “So what are you doing here tonight?” he asked.
She swallowed down a quarter of her new drink before answering. “What do you mean? I’m always here.”
“Yeah, but all of the other college students who come here on Saturday nights are at home with mom and pop right now.” He dipped the dirty mug in a sink of soapy water and pulled it out to rinse it off.
Amy tilted her head at him. “Hi, Pot. My name’s Kettle. Why aren’t you at home with mom and pop?”
“I’m not going home for a few days,” he explained. “I graduated this afternoon and I’m still in the process of packing up my things before moving in with my brother.”
She actually squealed with excitement when he finished speaking. “Okay, that’s it.” She pushed her mug to the side. “Two Jägerbombs please!”
Blaine laughed. “Coming right up.” He glanced at the two men at the other end of the bar as he made the drinks; they were deep in conversation and not nearly as deep into their drinks.
He set Amy’s drinks on the bar next to her but she immediately slid one back over to him. “Oh come on,” she said. “You knew one of these was for you.” Blaine picked it back up and clinked it against her glass in toast. “Congratulations!” she shouted.
They were both gulping down their drinks when Roni came back in from outside. “Drinking with customers already, Pippin?” she scoffed. “I only left you alone for fifteen minutes.”
“More like twenty,” Blaine said, nodding at the clock on the wall by the door and ignoring the hobbit jab.
She rolled her eyes and rejoined him behind the bar, taking care of the empty glasses herself.
“It was a congratulatory drink, anyway,” Amy spoke up.
Roni wiped her hands off on a towel draped off the counter by one of the sinks. “For not wearing a bowtie for the first time in forever?”
“He graduated today.”
“Aww, baby Blaine is all grown up!” Roni grinned before reaching over to pinch his cheek.
Blaine swatted her hand away. “Oh, give it a rest.”
“Nope!” Roni grinned devilishly, though she kept her hand to herself. “You’re a big boy now! Are you gonna leave us for the big, scary real world?”
“Nah. I’ll try and get on some sub lists for the rest of this year but it’s kind of hard to get a teaching job in the middle of winter.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Amy said as she picked up her beer again.
Roni rolled her eyes. “You two are disgustingly optimistic.”
Blaine elbowed her in the side. “Oh, lighten up.”
Roni scowled and turned her back on them to get a drink for a younger couple that had just sat down near the two men at the other end of the bar.
Blaine leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in Amy’s ear. “You’re right; she is in a good mood.”
Amy laughed, loud but feminine. Blaine noticed Roni’s shoulders stiffen and he was positive she would have made some sort of comment if she were near them, but she continued talking to the customers.
The night continued on like that-Amy drinking a bit too much, Roni being her grouchy self, and Blaine teaming up with Amy to do everything in their power to push Roni’s buttons-until fifteen minutes after last call when the last patron left, stumbling his way down the street to his apartment building a few doors down.
Blaine mopped off the bar while Roni took the cash drawer to the back to count it. He finished quickly and moved to the two lone tables by the window, wiping them off and flipping their chairs up on top of them. He twisted the locks on the main door and pulled the chain across before going back to the break room.
“Need me to do anything else?” he asked, already wrapping his houndstooth scarf around his neck.
“Nah,” Roni called over her shoulder from her perch at the desk in the corner. She tapped the pen in her hand against the wood of the desk. “Get out of here, and congrats on graduating.”
Blaine grinned-that was practically Mother Teresa behavior for her. “Thanks, Roni,” he said, then patted her on the head and headed back out to his car before she got the chance to snap at him for it.
He preferred leaving the bar at this time. Whenever he got out just after two o’clock, he had to deal with all of the drunkards who still thought they could drive after several hours in a bar. At least a little bit later, the roads were mostly clear.
Driving to Cooper’s was from the bar was weird. Blaine knew how to get there easily from his own house, but coming from a different direction completely threw him off. After driving on the same street for a lot longer than he thought it took to get to the apartment building, he started thinking that he had maybe missed a turn, and if he had, it was probably a good distance back. He sighed and looped around the nearest block, turning back onto the same street in the opposite direction. He twisted the volume dial for his radio two clicks to the left to help himself concentrate on figuring out where he had gone wrong.
After a minute or two, he noticed someone walking slowly along the sidewalk on the right side of the road. He bit his lip as two thoughts battled quickly through his mind. First, the neighborhood he was in really wasn’t the safest, and he didn’t like the idea of letting this person wander around alone this late at night. Second, he wondered if this person might be one of the reasons this neighborhood was so dangerous to begin with.
He let the battle wage on for a split second longer before coming to a decision. He slowed down and pulled up next to the stranger and wound down his passenger window. “Hey,” he called out. “You need a ride?”
The stranger passed through a beam of light from a lamp post on his way to the curb. Blaine blinked. The man was wearing shorts that were short enough that he thought only Richard Simmons was ballsy enough to try to pull off. He rested his forearms against the open window and leaned in, and Blaine found it hard to drag his eyes up to the man’s face, because his chest was covered in a black mesh tank top that made the light color of his skin pop even in the shadowy night. When he did look up, the man’s face was too dark to see.
“I’ve got a room over at the Super 8,” he said in a voice much higher than Blaine had expected.
He scrunched his face up. That motel was well-known to be sketchy and not at all the sort of place Blaine wanted to find himself anywhere near. This man must be in pretty desperate straits to have resorted to that motel. Another short war was fought in his mind, but he quickly hit the power lock button on the door. “C’mon, get in. You’ve got to be freezing out there.”
The man climbed in and buckled up. “The heat does feel good,” he said, forcing out an awkward chuckle.
Blaine turned the heat up a notch and pulled away from the curb. He was pretty sure he could make it to the motel on his own.
The stranger rubbed his hands together for warmth and opened his mouth twice to speak before any sound came out. “So, uh, what’re you looking for?”
“Hm?” Blaine asked. Had he missed something?
“You know,” he began and swallowed before continuing. “Something quick or… or the real deal?”
Blaine furrowed his brow. He thought back to when he picked the stranger up, but no, the questions really didn’t make any sense. He wondered vaguely if this was some sort of weird idea of small talk. Was he asking about what kind of relationship Blaine wanted? He figured it would be easiest to just go with the flow, drop the guy off, and never have to see him again.
“I’m always looking for the real deal,” he said.
Blaine saw the man nod tightly out of his peripheral vision, but he didn’t say anything. Luckily the motel came into sight about a minute later, so the silence wasn’t too awkward. He was flicking his turn signal on to turn into the parking lot when the man spoke up again. “How’s fifty sound?”
Blaine blinked, and then realized the guy was talking about money. “Oh, no, you really don’t have to,” he said. He had just stopped to be a nice guy, and fifty dollars was way too high anyway.
“I know I don’t have to,” he replied, smiling kind of flirtatiously. “But just come inside with me. I promise I’ll make it worth it.”
Warning bells went off in Blaine’s head. This sounded like the beginning of some CSI episode where a guy was found murdered and gruesomely dismembered. At the same time, he was in a confined space with the guy right now, and he wasn’t sure he would take no for an answer. Getting him out of the car was probably the first step, and he reminded himself that the guy had probably just left his wallet in the hotel room. It wasn’t like he had any room for it in his pants.
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. He turned the car off and pocketed the key, making sure that it was easy access for his escape.
“Fifty?”
“Yeah, great,” Blaine said, his heart pounding out the fast beat of a night club song in his chest.
They both stepped out of the car, and Blaine closed the door without locking it. He turned and followed the stranger across the parking lot, toward the motel. He lost himself in thoughts of timing his retreat to his car properly to get out of there safely, but all of a sudden the empty night air was filled with lots of shouting and beams of bright light were coming out of nowhere.
Before he knew it, Blaine was pinned to the ground, his hands wrestled behind his back, and someone was sitting on top of his legs. Images of his brother and his parents and the Warblers and the kids from his student teaching assignment flashed through his head. He was too young to die. He hadn’t said his goodbyes. This couldn’t be happening.
As soon as it all started, though, he felt some of the pressure on his back lighten. He felt something cold on his wrists, and someone behind him was trying to pull him upward with it. He helped them-he figured it was better to save his strength to fight when he felt like he had a better chance of getting away-and struggled to stand up on shaky feet. The noise had gotten a lot quieter since he was pulled upright, and he forced himself to try to calm down and listen. He needed to know what was going on if he was ever going to get out of this situation.
A hand waved itself in front of his face and snapped loudly. He blinked and refocused his attention on the situation around him, trying to get his rapid breathing under control.
The man who had led him here was standing about twenty feet away, near the door of one of the motel rooms. He was talking with- Blaine blinked. He was talking with a man who looked to be dressed like a police officer.
A hand waved in front of his face again, and Blaine turned his attention to its owner. It belonged to another man dressed as a cop, and he even had a badge on his shirt and a nametag that read Officer Jennings. Blaine twisted his head to the side, and he realized that there was another man and a woman, both dressed in the same blue uniform, making their way over toward him.
What was going on?
“You got any weapons on you?” the man in front of him asked, and he didn’t look happy.
“What?” Blaine responded, taken off guard. He shook his head to clear it. “No?” he said, turning the answer into a confused question.
“Okay, I’m gonna pat you down now.”
Blaine felt his face heating as the man-was he actually a police officer?-grabbed his shoulders and moved efficiently down his arms, in closer to his torso, and finally down around both of his legs. He pulled out his wallet, cell phone, and keys when he got to his pockets.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked from his right.
He really had no clue what was going on, but decided whatever the situation was, it was probably best to just do as he was told and answer their questions honestly. “Blaine Anderson.”
The man who had patted him down flipped open his wallet and Blaine caught him nod at the others.
“Alright, Blaine Anderson. You are under arrest for soliciting to engage in sexual activity for hire. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you…”
The woman’s words faded out and the sound of the rhythmic passage of blood through his veins took hold. The cold thing against his wrists was handcuffs. He really was under arrest, and sexual activity for hire… they thought he had picked up a prostitute. From the way the man had been talking with that other officer, it seemed like he had been in on it, too.
How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?
Lost in thought, Blaine found his legs getting weaker and all of a sudden he tumbled sideways into the first policeman.
“Whoa there, kid,” he said, catching Blaine and helping him stand upright again. “Let’s get you sat down.” He led him over to one of the police cars parked around the corner and hidden from view in most of the lot. Blaine groaned as more details caught up with him. “There we go,” the officer said, helping him into the back seat of one of the cruisers and saying something Blaine didn’t catch before closing the door on him.
Blaine felt trapped as he looked around at the metal isolating him from the front of the car. He let his head fall back against the headrest and allowed his eyes to drift closed.
Things were a blur when Blaine arrived at the city jail. Later on, he would remember bits and pieces-the smell of the perfume the woman was wearing when she took his finger prints electronically, and the sound of the camera shutter that followed five seconds after every “turn left” when they were taking his mug shots.
He finally started to come to once they had sat him down in front of a tiny cubicle with a telephone hanging on the wall. He had been so out of it that they had written down the important information-like the name of the prison and the amount of bail-on a slip of paper so that he could remember it all when he talked to whomever he was going to call.
That was the hard part, figuring out who to call. His roommates were all home with their families, and Roni would kill him for waking her up when she’s probably only been asleep for an hour or two. His parents were definitely out of the question, and that left, well… Cooper. He would never hear the end of it, but he was definitely his best option right now.
He told the number to dial to the officer waiting by his side and picked up the receiver. The phone rang once and was quickly picked up on the second ring. He heard the recording asking if the recipient would accept collect charges from the Franklin County Corrections Center and then he was patched through to his brother.
“This better be fucking good to wake me up at four thirty in the fucking morning.”
Blaine rested his head against the wall of the cubicle. This was going to be fun. “Hello to you, too, Coop.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone and it went on so long that Blaine worried that the call had been dropped. Just as he was about to ask if he was still there, Cooper spoke up. “Oh my god. Blaine? Is that you?”
Blaine sighed.
“It is you! What did Mr. Goody-two-shoes do?!”
“Come on, Coop, I really need your help here.”
“I’ll do whatever you need as long as you tell me what they got you for. Have you been hiding a coke problem? I know how common that stuff is with-“
“No, it wasn’t drugs,” he said, and Blaine could practically hear his brother deflating on the other end of the phone. He considered trying to deflect his question again, but he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. Cooper always won their arguments. “It was for picking up a prostitute,” he said finally.
He didn’t get a response immediately, but then Cooper started laughing hysterically. “Are you serious?”
“No, I’m just playing an elaborate prank on you,” Blaine snapped. “Of course I’m serious.”
“Geeze, calm down, squirt. If you were having trouble getting some you should have totally let me fix you up with someone.”
“I didn’t actually do it,” Blaine insisted.
“Uh huh,” he replied, though he sounded far from convinced. “Now what exactly do you need from me?”
“Well,” Blaine said, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “Bail’s kind of expensive, and I don’t have the money to cover it.”
“How much?”
Blaine breathed in deeply through his nose. “Twenty-five hundred dollars… in cash.”
“Two and a half grand?!” Cooper repeated. “Way to go.”
Blaine decided to ignore his extra commentary. “Can you help me or not?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
“Thanks,” he replied, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Anytime.” He could practically see his brother’s devilish grin.
“See you soon.”
“Don’t drop any soap. Though maybe that would solve your problem…”
“Goodbye, Cooper,” he said and hung up the phone, not waiting for a response.
The officer standing behind him cleared his throat. “Come on, this way.”
Blaine stood up and followed him. He was given a red jumpsuit to change into and was herded into a small changing room. It wasn’t really a jumpsuit-it looked more like the scrubs nurses wore in a hospital-and he was a little bit disappointed that it wasn’t orange or striped black on white. He felt strangely a little bit cheated.
After he emerged from the tiny room, he handed over his clothes and watched them be put into a plastic bin labeled with piece of masking tape that had a long number written on it in sharpie. A flat pillow and a thin sleeping bag were shoved into his arms and he was led to a waiting area outside a group of elevators. A group of other men in the same red jumpsuits was already assembled, and Blaine did his best to stay out of their way. A lot of them had tattoos and piercings (which, while it wasn’t his thing, he really didn’t have anything against) but what scared him was their size. He was pretty sure any one of them would be able to squash him in less than a second of he wanted to, but he didn’t think he’d be lucky enough for them to make it that fast.
Luckily, he went unnoticed for the time being. Some period of time later-Blaine had lost track of when it was hours ago, but the sun had started to rise-a guard came by and ushered them onto one of the elevators. They went up a few floors and were herded out into a new section of the jail that looked just like the part they had just left. They walked down a hallway for about thirty feet before the guard stopped outside a heavy metal door.
“Alright. Masterson, Torres, Anderson, and Peters, come with me.”
The biggest man stepped forward, as did a smaller Latino man and a tall, skinny man. Blaine looked back at the group as he felt his feet bringing him forward, and he saw another guard keeping an eye on the men who weren’t joining them.
The door closed behind them with a loud crack, and Blaine took a chance to look around at the room they were in. It was fairly large, with a grouping of couches and chairs in the middle. Two televisions were hung from posts in the center of the room, and a few tables and chairs were on the other side of the room. A long row of metal doors lined the wall, and a staircase on the left led up to a second floor of sorts, with another row of doors across the back wall.
“Okay, fellas,” the guard said, and Blaine gulped. “Welcome to Pod 4C. Showers are up the stairs and to the left, and your outdoor space is straight back. Masterson, you’re in cell 6. Torres, cell 17. Anderson, 22, and Peters, 43. Any questions?”
Blaine shook his head before his brain could even process enough to know if he did have any questions or not, and really, he just wanted to know when his brother would get his ass down to bail him out, but that wasn’t something that anyone else could answer for him. None of the other men spoke up and the guard turned quickly and left, the sound of the door’s lock clicking shut jolting Blaine into action.
The other three were already headed over to their assigned cells. It took him a minute, but Blaine realized that there were numbers above each of the doors along the wall. The first door on the left on the bottom floor had a number 1 above it, and the one next to it had a 2. The numbers continued sequentially to 25 on the bottom floor and continued with 26-50 up top.
He made his way slowly into number 22, and he was glad he had opened the door quietly when he realized the cell was already occupied. A man with a horribly outdated mohawk lay asleep on the bottom bunk, which was little more than a sheet of metal bolted into the far wall. The top bunk was probably not even three feet above him, and it was void of bedding. Blaine set the sleeping bag and pillow down on it gently and took in the rest of the room.
It was small. It was probably a very good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic. The bunks jutted out into the room, and there was probably about half a foot of empty space on either end. A toilet without a lid was tucked into the corner of the room by the other man’s feet and a small metal chair that looked horribly uncomfortable was bolted to the ground in the other corner. Blaine was standing in pretty much the only free space in the entire cell.
His exhaustion suddenly caught up with and overwhelmed him. He climbed up onto the bed and didn’t even get the sleeping bag unrolled before he passed out.
He woke up groggily some time later and it took him a minute of blinking into the relative darkness to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. He rolled over and groaned as his body protested the amount of time it had spent on the hard metal. He was a bit surprised that he had gotten up on his own instead of having some guard come get him to let him know his brother had bailed him out.
Climbing off of the bunk, he was grateful to notice that the room’s other occupant had already gotten up and left. He stretched his back like a cat and relieved himself in the toilet in the corner before realizing he had no idea what to do. The thought of staying in the tiny cell gave him the heebie jeebies, but he was worried that the group of men in the pod might eat him alive if he left.
He started to turn back to climb onto his bunk again when the door opened.
“I thought I saw movement,” said the man with the mohawk who had been sleeping on the bottom bunk when Blaine had arrived. He threw an arm out as wide as he could. “Welcome.”
Blaine hesitated for a split second, but he knew he would have to radiate confidence if he were going to survive this in one piece. “Hi,” he said coolly.
The other man stared at him for a moment before holding out his hand. “Name’s Puck.”
Blaine took his hand and shook it. “Blaine.”
The guy-Puck-barked out a laugh. “Dude, you gotta get a better name than that if you’re gonna last around here.”
Blaine felt heat rising to his face, and he really didn’t know how to respond to that. At least the guy didn’t seem ready to kick his ass, and maybe he could trust him. “What do you suggest?”
“What’s your last name?”
“Anderson.”
Puck frowned in thought. “Yeah, that’ll do. For now at least. We may need to do something about it later on, but at least it’ll help you get through today.” He paused and looked him up and down again. “You look like fresh meat.”
“I- yeah. My first time,” Blaine admitted, hoping he sounded tougher than he felt.
“What’cha in for?” Puck asked as he leaned back against the wall of the cell.
He considered his choices but decided to go with the simplest.
“Prostitution.”
“No way!” Puck said a bit too loudly. He let his eyes roam Blaine’s body more obviously, as if he were appraising him. “Hm, I can see it.”
“What?” Blaine asked. “Oh, no, I didn’t- I mean, I’m not-”
“Relax, dude,” Puck said, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s all cool in here. Except the rapists, that’s so not cool with anyone, but they’re in another pod pretty far away.”
Blaine blinked. He hadn’t even thought that he might be talking with someone like that. “So, uh, what’re you here for?”
Puck shrugged, and Blaine felt a little better getting the attention off himself. “Sellin’ drugs.”
Blaine winced at the thought, but he thought it came across as sympathetic.
“Come on, man, let’s get you introduced to the guys.”
Blaine opened his mouth to protest, but Puck already had the door open and was waiting for him to join him. He took a deep breath and told himself that if he’d survived last night, he could survive this.
To his surprise, no one really noticed them at first. There were a few sitting at the tables with a pencil in hand and a sheet of paper in front of them, but most of them were relaxing on the couches and staring at the televisions, both of which were playing ESPN News.
Puck sat down backwards on one of the metal chairs that was nearest the grouping of couches, and Blaine found an empty spot on a couch near him. He tried not to give off the impression that he was scared out of his mind, even though it was completely true.
“Yo, dudes, this is Anderson,” Puck said, loud enough to be heard over the sports channel. A few of the men raised a hand to wave, but most of them stayed focused on the television. Blaine noticed that some of them weren’t wearing the same red that he and Puck were.
“What’re the colors for?” he asked quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself.
Puck blinked and looked around, probably trying to figure out which colors he meant. “Oh,” he said a moment later. “It’s mostly red for dudes and a darker red for chicks,” he explained, and Blaine nodded, having seen a couple women last night who had been brought in around the same time. “The guys in green are on kitchen duty, so they’ll be leavin’ soon to help with lunch, and the ones in blue volunteered to clean and shit, but they’re out cleanin’ right now so you don’t see any of ‘em. That guy in white over there in the corner is on suicide watch, makes sure none of the rest of us wanna find our own way outta here, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
Blaine smiled a bit, thankful that this guy was willing to help him out and didn’t seem interested in beating him up or anything. “What about those guys over there?” he asked, pointing towards the four men-three in red and one in green-who were writing at the tables.
“They’re taking some GED class or somethin’.” He shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, ‘cause there’s no way I’d do homework even with nothin’ better to do, but there are a few who seem to like it.”
“Hm,” Blaine hummed. Some of the stuff that Puck was telling him was actually really interesting, and he had had no idea that there were things like classes inside of the jail. He would have to hold off judgement until after he got to know someone other than Puck, but maybe the people in here weren’t all as bad as they seemed from the outside.
Blaine surprisingly made it through the rest of the day without much incident. He was beyond frustrated with his brother, but time actually passed pretty quickly with Puck to chat with. He met a lot of the other guys in the same pod as him, and for the most part they just seemed like regular guys who had done something stupid. It probably helped that he was in one of the lowest- security pods, but the worst he had heard was some guy who had gotten into a bar fight one too many times.
No one harassed had him for not being a big macho guy, and he managed to fall asleep with relative ease, Puck’s deep, steady breaths soothing to his frayed nerves.
When he woke up Monday morning, it took him a minute to realize where he was. The bunk he was on was way too hard, and the pillow wasn’t nearly fluffy enough, but he still felt strangely rested. He rolled over and saw the toilet sitting in the corner of the room and everything came flooding back to him. He climbed down and slipped quietly from the cell, settling down quickly on one of the couches that were much more comfortable than the bed.
He sat there, staring off into space for a while, just thinking. He figured he felt so rested because he actually got enough sleep for once, but from there his mind wandered to everything he had seen and heard over the past twenty-four hours and then to where in the hell his brother was to get him out of there. He sighed and got up, turning the television on. Puck had taught him enough to leave it on ESPN-if there was anything that the guys hated in there, it was watching something other than the sports channel.
He watched mindlessly for some time, and a handful of others had gotten up to join him on the couches and armchairs. The newscasters had just gotten on the topic of how the injury of one of the Seahawks’ safeties was going to affect their chances in the playoffs when he heard the buzz-and-click that he had already learned to associate with the opening of a door.
None of the other guys turned away from the television to see who was coming into the pod, so he decided not to look either. A second or two passed and Blaine had almost put the door out of his mind when he heard, “Anderson!” from somewhere up and behind him.
He jumped at the sound of his name, standing quickly and turning around. A guard was standing just inside the door, looking around, trying to figure out which man he was looking for. Blaine started to walk forward.
“Ah, there you are,” the guard said, waving Blaine toward him. “Come on, you’re outta here.”
Blaine breathed out quickly in relief. Cooper had finally come through for him.
Part 2