Bait (3/4)
Title: Bait
Artist: dani_elizabethx
Word Count: 6,310 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 woke up on his own late the next morning, sunlight streaming through the window. He rolled over and swung an arm out and felt only air where there should have been more bed. He blinked his eyes open and realized that he wasn’t on his side of the bed, and that’s when the night before came rushing back.
He groaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow. He had not slept with the cop who had gotten him arrested. There was no way he had done something so stupid.
He twisted his head to the side only to see an empty bed. He hoped for a moment that it was a sign that everything had just been a really horrible, if hot, dream, but he noticed that that side of the bed at been slept in, too. It was just his luck.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he climbed out of bed, pulled on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his dresser and padded into the kitchen to get some coffee. Coffee made everything better.
He was just pulling his mug out from underneath the Keurig when his brother cleared his throat from the living room. “So who’s Kurt?”
Blaine was lucky that he hadn’t started drinking the coffee yet, because it surely would have made its way out through his nose. “What?” he asked.
“Who’s Kurt?” Cooper repeated. “You know, the guy whose name you kept moaning at 3 this morning?”
“At least I learned his name before I got into his pants, unlike some of us,” Blaine snapped.
“Ooh, touchy. Maybe I shouldn’t show you the note he left you.”
Blaine furrowed his eyebrows. “He left a note?”
“M’hmm.”
“Where is it?” he asked, but his brother only stared at him in response. “Come on, Coop. Where’s the note?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’s over here,” he said, lifting a foot to push a scrap of paper around on the coffee table.
Blaine abandoned his coffee on the counter and grabbed the note out from under his brother’s foot. “That’s disgusting,” he said with a glare.
“He signed it with an X-O. Must be pretty serious,” Cooper observed.
Blaine glared for a second longer before curiosity got the better of him. His eyes skimmed the note; it was a basic “I had to go to work and didn’t want to wake you,” and it did, in fact, end with the X-O that Cooper had noticed.
It was such a simple note and somehow that just confused Blaine even more. Had Kurt just up and left, he could have written the whole thing off as a one night stand that Blaine would learn from and hopefully never repeat. Instead, the note complicated things in his head. It sort of implied that Kurt didn’t want Blaine to think badly of him for leaving like he had. At the same time, though, he had no way of contacting him-short of showing up at the police station and asking for him, which was completely out of the question.
He groaned and let the note fall back down onto the coffee table before grabbing his mug and flopping down next to his brother on the couch with a deep sigh.
Cooper raised an eyebrow at the display. “Note not what you were expecting?”
“Something like that,” Blaine mumbled before taking a sip of his coffee. It did help clear his head a bit, but he still had no idea what to make of the situation he had gotten himself into.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Blaine trying to make things less complicated in his mind and failing, and Cooper staring at the college football game that was muted on the television.
“Coop?” Blaine finally asked, turning to face his brother, who reluctantly turned from the game. “Can I tell you something without you judging me for it?”
Cooper’s face broke into a gigantic grin, which he quickly schooled into fake concern. “Of course, baby brother.”
Blaine rolled his eyes. He didn’t actually trust Cooper to not judge him, but he needed another opinion. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the worst. “Well… Kurt? Is kind of the cop who got me arrested.”
“No!” Cooper said, eyes wide in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“You think I’d make something like that up?” Blaine glared up at him.
“Oh my god!” Cooper said, clapping his hands in too much excitement for Blaine’s liking. “You totally slept with the hooker cop.”
“I said no judgment.”
“Sorry,” Cooper said, obviously not sorry at all. “Oh my god. I am so proud of you, baby brother.”
Blaine closed his eyes and slid further down on the couch. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“I don’t know,” Cooper said, “but I must have done something very good to get to see it!”
Monday morning rolled around, and Blaine still hadn’t heard from Kurt. Not that he had expected to, especially considering that Kurt had no way to get a hold of him, either.
Cooper was gone, as usual, by the time Blaine finally pulled himself out of bed and showered. He figured he should probably get started on figuring out when and where he was going to manage to do two hundred hours of community service. He was lucky that he didn’t have a job during the day that would make scheduling this harder.
After grabbing coffee and his laptop, he sat down on the couch and started to make a list of various places he might be able to volunteer. He had to keep them fairly close by, considering he lacked vehicular transportation for the next three months, and he really hoped he could avoid those crews that pick up litter on the highway or paint over graffiti in the city. He didn’t want all of the judgmental looks that came along with those tasks. They were things that needed to be done, and he appreciated that there were people willing to do them, but he couldn’t take the looks of the people thinking how horrible a person he must be for having to do community service. It was like everyone equated community service with being a horrible criminal (which, well, was kind-of-but-not-really right in Blaine’s case), when really, there were a lot of people who volunteered for things because they wanted to give back to the community and they enjoyed it.
So, yes. He needed to find something nearby that wasn’t going to make him want to lecture people about getting involved.
The first place he called was a youth mentorship program that operated about ten blocks away, but when he mentioned that he’d need verification of his service for the court, the woman’s polite tone turned curt and she told him that they didn’t do that. She wished him a pleasant day and hung up, not letting him get a word in edgewise.
He had a similar experience with an animal shelter and the YMCA, and he thought he might have better luck with the library but the nearest branch was pretty far away. He sighed and went to the next organization on his list, and he was surprised when they didn’t mind verifying his time there, especially when they found out he was interested in volunteering on a daily basis. They asked him to come in at 9:30 the next morning to talk to the volunteer coordinator to get a schedule set up and to find out more about what they needed help with. He breathed a sigh of relief that something finally seemed to be working out in his favor.
He woke up early on Tuesday and got ready, dressing in khakis and a black button down shirt with his sky blue bowtie and slicking his hair down with more hair gel than he usually wore when he was just going to work at the bar. He planned on taking this meeting as seriously as a job interview; he really didn’t want to end up losing this opportunity and have to find something else.
After bundling up, he walked the twenty minutes to the Red Cross center and still arrived ten minutes early. He stood around outside and looked over the signs that were posted in the window, his hands in his pockets and his breath visible with every exhale. Once he figured he’d wasted enough time, he pulled open the door and went inside, rubbing his hands together in the warmth of the building.
He had to go through a second set of doors and came upon a hallway-turned-waiting-room, with a reception desk blocking the left half of the hallway and a row of five chairs along the right wall.
“Are you here to donate?” an older woman sitting behind the desk asked. She reached for a clipboard and began to hand it over.
Blaine shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m here to see Lisa? She’s expecting me.”
The woman let the clipboard fall the few inches down to the desk with a clatter. “Name?”
“Blaine Anderson.”
She narrowed her eyes and flipped through a calendar that had been sitting to the side of the desk. “I see,” she said. “Go on back, she’s the second door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Blaine nodded politely at her and walked purposely back past the desk. He got a weird vibe from the woman, but he put that out of his mind as he made his way back through the building. The first door he passed was closed, and Blaine couldn’t see inside, but the door the woman had indicated was propped open, and he could see a light on inside the room. Looking in, a woman not much older than himself with a pixie haircut was sitting behind a card table. It was functioning as a desk and took up most of the space in the room. A folding metal chair sat open on the near side of the table, and it was obvious that the room had originally been a large closet of some sort.
He knocked on the door and the woman looked up at him. “Mr. Anderson?” she asked.
“Yes, but please call me Blaine.”
“Blaine, then.” The woman nodded and stood, gesturing for him to come in and have a seat. “You can close the door.”
Blaine did as instructed, and as soon as the door was shut he realized that there were no windows in the room, and he felt very boxed in. He could understand why she normally left the door open.
“My name’s Lisa Allen,” the woman said, holding her hand out for Blaine to shake. “I’m the volunteer coordinator at this office of the American Red Cross.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Allen,” Blaine said as he returned her firm handshake.
“Please call me Lisa,” she said, and Blaine nodded in acknowledgement. “Now what brings you here to us today, Blaine?”
“Well, I’m interested in volunteering, obviously,” he said with a bit of a chuckle. “Luckily no one I know has been in a position to need blood or CPR, but I really appreciate the mission of this organization.”
Lisa nodded. “You said on the phone that you were court ordered to perform community service?”
Blaine ducked his head, still embarrassed about that. “Yes,” he agreed, “and I’ll need verification.”
“That’s more than fine,” Lisa told him, and Blaine felt a little bit calmer. “Have you ever given blood before?”
“Once when I was in high school, but I haven’t since then,” Blaine admitted. He hoped she wouldn’t ask the reason why he had stopped-he lost his virginity his freshman year of college and had thusly lost the legal right to donate blood for the rest of his life, and he didn’t want to jeopardize this volunteer opportunity because of his sexuality. Things had been going well so far, and while Lisa seemed to be the kind of woman who didn’t care about things like who’s straight and who’s not, he was still in the middle of conservative Ohio and that meant that the odds were never in his favor.
Except today, because Lisa took that at face value and moved onto her next question. “When are you available to volunteer?”
“I work at night, so I’m free all day. I’d be interested in helping out maybe four or five hours a day?” he said, turning the statement into a question.
Lisa made some notes on a paper on the table in front of her. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “Let’s tentatively say ten to two, Monday through Friday?”
Blaine nodded. “That sounds reasonable. What will I be doing?”
“What we need the most help with is registering blood donors and going over their paperwork to make sure that everything is in order and that they’re eligible to donate. Not only do we want their blood to be healthy for our recipients, we want to ensure that donating isn’t going to have any negative effects on the donor.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
“Sure!” Blaine said. “I’m open to doing whatever you’ll find more useful.”
Lisa smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s really a great attitude to have. Would you be willing to travel to blood drives across the city?”
Blaine began to nod but hesitated. “I don’t mind traveling, but it would need to be on a bus line.” He didn’t want to get into the specifics of why he couldn’t drive, but luckily Lisa didn’t seem to need any elaboration.
“That’s not a problem. We actually have our volunteers and staff meet up here, then travel to the drive site together in the truck. Those days usually run a little longer, sometimes from as early as eight to as late as five. Is that a problem at all?”
“No, that sounds great.”
“Wondeful! Everything seems to be in order, then.” Lisa shuffled some papers together on her table-cum-desk and smiled gently at him. “If you have the time today, would you mind sticking around and I’ll go over procedure with you? If you want, you can shadow one of our current volunteers this afternoon, too.”
“I’m all yours!” Blaine said, returning her smile.
He spent the rest of the day learning about what exactly the requirements were for the different types of blood donation-length of time between donation, donor weight requirements, travel restrictions, and, of course, the ridiculous policy of not accepting blood from any man who has had sex with another man in the past forty years (or even from anyone who’s had sex with such a man).
Blaine didn’t like the original policy but understood why it was put into place way back when. It had been outdated for decades, though, and while he didn’t agree with it at all and hated the feeling of discrimination he felt when Lisa explained it to him (she seemed to find it equally offensive, but didn’t say so outright), he had to admit that the Red Cross was still managing to do something good through blood drives. He felt conflicted about volunteering and showing support for the organization, but in the end the good the organization does (and, okay, the desire to get his community service completed, too) outweighed the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He filled out a lot of paperwork signing that he understood what was being required of him and then finished the day off like Lisa had suggested, sitting with a current volunteer and paying attention to what he was doing so that Blaine could feel more comfortable when he’d be on his own the next day. He was assured that someone would always be available if he had any questions, but it would be helpful if he could start handling things on his own as quickly as possible.
He left around one o’clock and stopped at McDonald’s on his walk home to pick up a burger and salad, and his hands were too full with the bag of food and his keys to check the mail on his way in.
A few hours later, he had completely forgotten about the mail when Cooper got back from the theater. “Someone’s got mail!” he sing-songed before the door was even closed, and Blaine looked over at him quizzically from the couch.
“Who’s it from?” he asked, holding his hand out for whatever had come for him.
Cooper’s face broke into a wide grin, and Blaine got a sinking feeling about this.
“Who, Cooper?” he demanded.
“It’s from the court!”
Blaine groaned. “Just hand it over?”
“Party pooper,” he accused, but he still gave up the envelope.
Blaine took it and checked the return address; his brother was telling the truth. He slid a finger under the flap, tore it open, and pulled out the letter that was inside. His eyes scanned the document, which began with the standard “Dear Mr. Anderson” before it deviated into something that Blaine hadn’t been expecting.
The letter fluttered down to his lap, forgotten. “Oh my god.”
“What is it?” Cooper asked, snatching the letter away. Blaine didn’t even fight to keep a hold of it, just sitting in sickened silence while his brother read. “Oh my god,” he echoed. “They want you to register as a sex offender?!”
“Unless we’ve both misread that letter, then yes,” Blaine responded, a misdirected bite in his voice.
“My brother, the sex offender,” Cooper stated, as if tasting the words. Blaine glared up at him. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“Cooper!”
“Alright, alright,” he said, gesturing at him to calm down. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I’m a teacher, Cooper. A person who works with children for forty hours a week.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow at him. “I may not have gone to college, but I do know what a teacher is.”
“Schools don’t generally hire sex offenders, Coop.”
“Oh,” he responded, deflating. He sank down on the other end of the couch, rereading the letter.
“Yeah,” Blaine said. “Oh.”
They sat in silence for a minute or two before Cooper spoke back up. “Just call Eric. I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”
Call Eric, his lawyer. Right. Eric would definitely know what to do about this.
He blinked as something dark was shoved in front of his face. “What the hell?” he asked, batting his brother’s hand away.
“You generally need a phone to call someone.”
“Uh, right.” He grabbed his cell from Cooper and scrolled through his contacts list until he came to his lawyer’s number. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he pressed the call button and lifted the phone to his ear.
It rang four times before switching over to voicemail. Blaine sighed; it was after business hours so he should have expected it, but he really wanted to take care of this immediately. He waited for the beep and then left his message.
“Hi Eric. It’s, uh, it’s Blaine Anderson. Michael’s son? Yeah, I just got this letter from the court saying I need to, uh, register as a sex offender? Um, what’s with that? You didn’t tell me anything about that. I’m kind of freaking out here and would love it if you could call me back as soon as you can. 614-691-8297. Thanks.”
Blaine had spent the rest of the evening doing research on his laptop about sex offender laws in Ohio. After a few hours online, he didn’t feel as completely adrift as he had when he first read the letter that afternoon. There were ways of getting out of the situation, but he was a bit confused after having read so many different web pages in such a short time. He’d decided to give up on it for the time being while he went to work, and he hoped to hear from Eric quickly.
Unfortunately, he still hadn’t received any phone calls before he had to leave for the Red Cross the next morning. He’d felt his phone vibrate in his pocket a few times throughout his shift, but he really wanted to make a great first impression so he’d ignored it until he was on his way home a little after two o’clock. His first day had gone well; he had to ask other volunteers for help a few times, but overall he had been a quick learner, and he left with a good feeling about the next few months of volunteering.
After walking the first block toward his apartment, he couldn’t stand the wait any longer and pulled out his phone. He had a few emails (all coupons and sales announcements from various companies), one missed call and one voicemail. He tapped the button to listen to the message and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Blaine, hi. It’s Eric. I just got your message from yesterday. I had mentioned the need to register as a sex offender during our meeting-” Blaine didn’t recall that at all, but he had still been in a bit of shock at the time, so it was more than possible that he had missed it. “-but we can definitely work something out. The best thing for you to do is to register right now, since failing to register in itself is another misdemeanor, and complete your community service. Once you’ve done that, it’ll be easier for me to get this taken care of. If you want to talk about this at all, let me know. Have a nice day.”
The message ended with a click. Blaine locked his phone and resisted the urge to throw it against a building. He had been hoping that his lawyer would have some sort of magical solution to this problem, but clearly that wasn’t the case. It made sense to do as he suggested, though, because another misdemeanor on his record really would not help his case.
Once he got home, he grudgingly filled out the registration form and submitted it online. The whole situation left a foul taste in his mouth, and even Roni noticed his bad mood that night at work. She told him to take the next night off to try and get his act together.
The next day, he mentioned his night off to Cooper once he’d gotten back from the theater, and he should have known nothing good could have come from it when his brother’s face broke into a mischievous grin. Actually, he should have known that before he said anything, but for some reason he thought it might be safe. Maybe this whole thing was making him crazy.
Either that, or his brother was the culprit. Both were equally as likely.
In any case, Cooper had suggested going out to a bar with a karaoke night to get his mind off of everything. Blaine had protested that he really didn’t want to spend his night off from work at the bar in a different bar, but Cooper had insisted. As much as Blaine hated to admit it, when his brother insisted on something, he was powerless to stop it.
That’s how he found himself sitting at a table in the back of The Birdcage nursing a bottle of Yuengling and watching Cooper on stage, over-performing a Carlos Santana song.
Really, he’d prefer sitting at home alone, curled up on the couch with some classic romantic comedy playing on the television, but he had to admit that watching his brother make a fool of himself did make him feel better. It wasn’t as relaxing as a movie in his pajamas, but he smiled at how ridiculous Cooper looked up on that stage. He never did understand that subtlety could actually convey a lot in a performance.
About halfway through the song, he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He whirled around in his seat, ready to fight. It was an embarrassing reflex left over from that horrible dance nearly a decade ago, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.
“Anderson, right?” the man asked, and Blaine shook his head to clear away the adrenaline running through his veins. “Oh, sorry, dude. Must’ve confused you with someone else.”
Blaine took a closer look at the man as he turned around to leave. He was wearing ill-fitting jeans (like most men, unfortunately) and a simple cotton shirt, but the thing that stuck out to him was a stripe of dark hair down the back of an otherwise bald head. It looked vaguely familiar, and a second later it hit him. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to stop the man from walking away. “Puck?”
The man turned around, and Blaine had been right. It was Puck.
“Yeah?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Sorry, you were right. I was just…” Blaine shook his head again and shrugged.
“Just…” Puck echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Confused?”
“Uh huh.”
“So… how are you? “ Blaine asked. “What are you doing here?”
Puck shrugged and nodded toward the stage. “Same thing that guy’s doing, only better.”
Blaine laughed in spite of his foul mood. “No, I mean, like, what are you doing not… in the place I first met you?” he asked, not sure if mentioning jail was some sort of faux pas or something.
Puck looked like he was debating commenting on his word choice, but instead he said, “Got out early.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about the police looking for you?”
“Nah, man, good behavior or some shit.”
“Of course,” Blaine said, feeling a little relieved.
Puck leaned in and lowered his voice. “You don’t want to buy anything, do you?”
“What?” He narrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He had an almost-full beer in front of him that Puck could clearly see.
“I got out early, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t lose a lot of customers while I was away. You seem like someone I could trust.”
“Uh, thanks?” Hadn’t Puck told him he was doing time for drugs? Blaine had thought at the time that it had been for possession or something, but maybe it was for dealing. “But, uh, I’m not really into-“
Blaine was cut off by his brother’s exuberant return. Cooper rested an arm on his shoulders and Blaine just knew he was smiling at Puck.
“Hi, Coop,” he said. “This is Puck.” He waved at the man standing in front of them. “Puck, this is my brother, Cooper.”
“Pleased to meet you!” Cooper said brightly, extending a hand. Blaine knew that some of the etiquette lessons they had received as a child had stuck with his brother as much as they had with Blaine himself.
Puck, on the other hand, apparently hadn’t had such lessons as a child, or if he had, he had forgotten them long ago. He looked Cooper up and down, sizing him up. In the end, he shook Cooper’s hand with a “Yeah, same,” but he didn’t continue on with their previous conversation. Blaine breathed a sigh of relief.
There was an awkward moment of silence before Cooper leaned down so that Blaine could hear him better over the two women belting out a flat rendition of It’s Raining Men. “You should probably go up and pick out a song. I signed you up after these two idiots.”
Blaine groaned. “Really, Coop?”
His brother smiled at him in return.
“You know what? Whatever. Fine.” He chugged down the rest of his beer and made his way over to the list of available songs. He was frustrated with Cooper for having signed him up without his knowledge, he was annoyed with Cooper for having dragged him out to the bar in the first place, he was worried about what Cooper would do to Puck while he was gone, he was nervous about Puck would do to Cooper while he was gone, and he was angry with himself for getting into this whole solicitation and sex offender mess in the first place.
He was supposed to be enjoying not being a college student any longer and not having to go to class or read assignments or write papers. Instead, he was essentially working two jobs, neither of which made use of his degree that cost more than a teacher made in five years and one of which came without pay, and he was dealing with people who only seemed to make his life worse.
He looked down the list of songs and chose the first former Top 40 hit he saw, then waited for the two horribly drunk and terribly off-key women to finish their song.
Climbing onto the stage, he grabbed hold of the microphone and waited for the music to start.
White knuckles and sweaty palms from hanging on too tight
Clenched shut jaw, I've got another headache again tonight
A few lines in, Blaine was already starting to relax. It felt good to let go and to let his emotions flow into the words of the song. If he were completely honest with himself, he missed singing and performing, though he would never admit to his brother that maybe tonight hadn’t been as horrible of an idea as he had originally thought. Of course, karaoke was a laughable substitute for performing in front of a packed auditorium with all eyes on you instead of their friends or their beers, and the energy was completely different, but despite all of that, singing in front of people was putting him in a better mood-especially as more and more people put their conversations on hold and turned to watch his performance.
I think I've finally had enough, I think I maybe think too much
I think this might be it for us (blow me one last kiss)
You think I'm just too serious, I think you're full of shit
My head is spinning so (blow me one last kiss)
Just when it can't get worse, I've had a shit day
Have you had a shit day? We've had a shit day
I think that life's too short for this, I want back my ignorance and bliss
I think I've had enough of this, blow me one last kiss.
He scanned the room as he hit the second chorus, and he almost stopped singing in shock when he saw Kurt sitting a few tables away from Cooper and Puck, who were still talking (about what, Blaine wasn’t sure he wanted to know). He didn’t actually stop singing, of course-he was much too practiced of a performer for that-but he did stare Kurt down and add the resulting extra emotional baggage into the rest of the song.
Kurt hadn’t been Blaine’s first one night stand, but he had been the first since his freshman year of college. He had learned quickly that that wasn’t what he was looking for, but with all of the crap going on in his life, relaxing and having some fun for one night hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea at the time.
Yet now, here he was, singing a ridiculous breakup song at this man who had gotten him arrested and who had made him feel so amazing one stupid night and who had left the next morning but had written Blaine a note like some weirdly domestic apology.
I will do what I please, anything that I want
I will breathe, I will breathe, I won't worry at all
You will pay for your sins, you'll be sorry my dear
All the lies, all the why's, will all be crystal clear
He felt even more energized as the song went on. Singing had always been therapeutic for him, and even if seeing his one night stand-and he had to tell himself that that’s all that it was and all it ever would be-had thrown him off a bit, pouring the extra emotion into his performance helped.
Kurt was entranced from the moment Blaine noticed him until the last repeat of the chorus, at which point he tapped something into his phone on the table in front of him, then pocketed it and moved away from his table. Blaine lost track of him as he finished off the song, and he told himself it was for the best as he headed back to his table. He picked up another round of beers on the way (buying one for Puck was another consequence of his childhood etiquette lessons), and he tried to work through his thoughts about Kurt as he weaved through the tables back to Cooper and Puck.
Blaine wasn’t happy that he had let himself get into the emotions involved with a one night stand again, but they had been pushed to the back of his mind with everything else that had been going on. He didn’t understand the note, but it wasn’t like either of them had a way to contact the other. He supposed that Kurt could have visited him at work-or even stayed for the end of Blaine’s song tonight-if he was interested in getting in touch, but clearly he hadn’t wanted to even when the ball was clearly in his court. The onus was on Kurt to contact Blaine, and he’d had opportunities to do so but hadn’t taken them. It had been a meaningless one night stand, and now that it was back in his mind, he needed to understand that nothing was going to come from it and put it back out of his mind.
He set one of the bottles down in front of his brother and held one out to Puck when he got back to the table.
“What’s this?” Puck asked, looking at him in confusion and not taking the beer.
“A bottle with delicious booze?” Blaine returned teasingly. Puck looked like he wasn’t sure he should trust it. “Just take it.”
Puck shrugged and took it from Blaine’s hand. “To badass singers,” he said, holding the beer up in mock toast.
Blaine grinned. “To freedom,” he said with a wink, clinking his bottle against Puck’s.
“To not worrying about our problems,” Cooper added, obviously not wanting to be left out.
“Hear, hear!” Puck said as he tapped their bottles together. He took a big sip, and Blaine and Cooper followed suit. “Thanks, dude,” he said, “and good luck with that sex offender stuff. That sucks balls.”
“What?” Blaine asked vaguely, turning to glare at Cooper, who suddenly was focused on an overweight man dancing drunkenly on the stage to Mambo Number Five.
Puck shrugged. “It just came up.”
“Uh huh.”
“It did! I’ve gotta go,” he said, glancing over his shoulder toward a group of people on the other side of the bar, “but seriously, man, good luck with that shit.”
“Thanks, Puck,” Blaine said with a chuckle.
Puck stuffed something into the front pocket of Blaine’s shirt. “So you can let me know if you ever-“
“I will,” Blaine said, cutting him off. He was positive that Cooper had at least tried pot, but he really didn’t want to give his brother any more ammunition for teasing him (or, heaven forbid, letting slip to their parents). Luckily Cooper was still paying attention to the inebriated monstrosity on stage.
Puck nodded. “See you around.”
“See you around,” Blaine echoed, and he felt his phone buzz in his pants pocket as Puck left. He pulled it out and saw that he had a few new emails, but the buzz had been for a new text message.
From Kurt Hummel.
They definitely hadn’t exchanged numbers, so there was no reason why Blaine would-or could-have Kurt’s number saved in his phone. He took a gulp of his beer and figured that Kurt had probably programmed his number in when he left that stupid note that just complicated everything further in Blaine’s head. He must have sent himself a text so that he could get Blaine’s number and then deleted the evidence. It almost felt like a punch in the gut that this man had managed to trick him again, even though this time had been exceptionally minor.
He knocked back more of the beer and opened the text.
You never told me you could sing! You sounded fantastic up there. :)
Blaine couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. That seemed to get Cooper’s attention away from the stage, and he looked over at Blaine with a questioning look.
Blaine shrugged in response and finished off his beer. He had no idea how to take that text or if he even wanted to respond, and the noise in the bar really wasn’t helping matters. “I’m heading home,” he announced.
“What? Why?” Cooper asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.
“I just… need to go. You can come with me or stay here. I don’t care, but I’m going.”
“Okay,” Cooper replied. “I’ll join you. Just give me a second to finish this?” He held up the beer Blaine had brought over.
“Sure, but make it fast,” Blaine huffed. He was in no mood to deal with his brother’s antics right now, but he was at least glad that Cooper seemed to have picked up on the change in his mood. It was probably good, too, that he wasn’t going to be trying to get home alone between his bad mood and the alcohol he’d had.
Cooper chugged the rest of his drink, and he pulled on his scarf and coat as Blaine did the same. They made it home without incident, and Blaine passed out, fully dressed, on his bed before he could analyze the text message and how to respond as well as before Cooper could get out of him what had happened.
Part 4
Artist: dani_elizabethx
Word Count: 6,310 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 woke up on his own late the next morning, sunlight streaming through the window. He rolled over and swung an arm out and felt only air where there should have been more bed. He blinked his eyes open and realized that he wasn’t on his side of the bed, and that’s when the night before came rushing back.
He groaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow. He had not slept with the cop who had gotten him arrested. There was no way he had done something so stupid.
He twisted his head to the side only to see an empty bed. He hoped for a moment that it was a sign that everything had just been a really horrible, if hot, dream, but he noticed that that side of the bed at been slept in, too. It was just his luck.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he climbed out of bed, pulled on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his dresser and padded into the kitchen to get some coffee. Coffee made everything better.
He was just pulling his mug out from underneath the Keurig when his brother cleared his throat from the living room. “So who’s Kurt?”
Blaine was lucky that he hadn’t started drinking the coffee yet, because it surely would have made its way out through his nose. “What?” he asked.
“Who’s Kurt?” Cooper repeated. “You know, the guy whose name you kept moaning at 3 this morning?”
“At least I learned his name before I got into his pants, unlike some of us,” Blaine snapped.
“Ooh, touchy. Maybe I shouldn’t show you the note he left you.”
Blaine furrowed his eyebrows. “He left a note?”
“M’hmm.”
“Where is it?” he asked, but his brother only stared at him in response. “Come on, Coop. Where’s the note?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’s over here,” he said, lifting a foot to push a scrap of paper around on the coffee table.
Blaine abandoned his coffee on the counter and grabbed the note out from under his brother’s foot. “That’s disgusting,” he said with a glare.
“He signed it with an X-O. Must be pretty serious,” Cooper observed.
Blaine glared for a second longer before curiosity got the better of him. His eyes skimmed the note; it was a basic “I had to go to work and didn’t want to wake you,” and it did, in fact, end with the X-O that Cooper had noticed.
It was such a simple note and somehow that just confused Blaine even more. Had Kurt just up and left, he could have written the whole thing off as a one night stand that Blaine would learn from and hopefully never repeat. Instead, the note complicated things in his head. It sort of implied that Kurt didn’t want Blaine to think badly of him for leaving like he had. At the same time, though, he had no way of contacting him-short of showing up at the police station and asking for him, which was completely out of the question.
He groaned and let the note fall back down onto the coffee table before grabbing his mug and flopping down next to his brother on the couch with a deep sigh.
Cooper raised an eyebrow at the display. “Note not what you were expecting?”
“Something like that,” Blaine mumbled before taking a sip of his coffee. It did help clear his head a bit, but he still had no idea what to make of the situation he had gotten himself into.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Blaine trying to make things less complicated in his mind and failing, and Cooper staring at the college football game that was muted on the television.
“Coop?” Blaine finally asked, turning to face his brother, who reluctantly turned from the game. “Can I tell you something without you judging me for it?”
Cooper’s face broke into a gigantic grin, which he quickly schooled into fake concern. “Of course, baby brother.”
Blaine rolled his eyes. He didn’t actually trust Cooper to not judge him, but he needed another opinion. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the worst. “Well… Kurt? Is kind of the cop who got me arrested.”
“No!” Cooper said, eyes wide in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“You think I’d make something like that up?” Blaine glared up at him.
“Oh my god!” Cooper said, clapping his hands in too much excitement for Blaine’s liking. “You totally slept with the hooker cop.”
“I said no judgment.”
“Sorry,” Cooper said, obviously not sorry at all. “Oh my god. I am so proud of you, baby brother.”
Blaine closed his eyes and slid further down on the couch. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“I don’t know,” Cooper said, “but I must have done something very good to get to see it!”
Monday morning rolled around, and Blaine still hadn’t heard from Kurt. Not that he had expected to, especially considering that Kurt had no way to get a hold of him, either.
Cooper was gone, as usual, by the time Blaine finally pulled himself out of bed and showered. He figured he should probably get started on figuring out when and where he was going to manage to do two hundred hours of community service. He was lucky that he didn’t have a job during the day that would make scheduling this harder.
After grabbing coffee and his laptop, he sat down on the couch and started to make a list of various places he might be able to volunteer. He had to keep them fairly close by, considering he lacked vehicular transportation for the next three months, and he really hoped he could avoid those crews that pick up litter on the highway or paint over graffiti in the city. He didn’t want all of the judgmental looks that came along with those tasks. They were things that needed to be done, and he appreciated that there were people willing to do them, but he couldn’t take the looks of the people thinking how horrible a person he must be for having to do community service. It was like everyone equated community service with being a horrible criminal (which, well, was kind-of-but-not-really right in Blaine’s case), when really, there were a lot of people who volunteered for things because they wanted to give back to the community and they enjoyed it.
So, yes. He needed to find something nearby that wasn’t going to make him want to lecture people about getting involved.
The first place he called was a youth mentorship program that operated about ten blocks away, but when he mentioned that he’d need verification of his service for the court, the woman’s polite tone turned curt and she told him that they didn’t do that. She wished him a pleasant day and hung up, not letting him get a word in edgewise.
He had a similar experience with an animal shelter and the YMCA, and he thought he might have better luck with the library but the nearest branch was pretty far away. He sighed and went to the next organization on his list, and he was surprised when they didn’t mind verifying his time there, especially when they found out he was interested in volunteering on a daily basis. They asked him to come in at 9:30 the next morning to talk to the volunteer coordinator to get a schedule set up and to find out more about what they needed help with. He breathed a sigh of relief that something finally seemed to be working out in his favor.
He woke up early on Tuesday and got ready, dressing in khakis and a black button down shirt with his sky blue bowtie and slicking his hair down with more hair gel than he usually wore when he was just going to work at the bar. He planned on taking this meeting as seriously as a job interview; he really didn’t want to end up losing this opportunity and have to find something else.
After bundling up, he walked the twenty minutes to the Red Cross center and still arrived ten minutes early. He stood around outside and looked over the signs that were posted in the window, his hands in his pockets and his breath visible with every exhale. Once he figured he’d wasted enough time, he pulled open the door and went inside, rubbing his hands together in the warmth of the building.
He had to go through a second set of doors and came upon a hallway-turned-waiting-room, with a reception desk blocking the left half of the hallway and a row of five chairs along the right wall.
“Are you here to donate?” an older woman sitting behind the desk asked. She reached for a clipboard and began to hand it over.
Blaine shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m here to see Lisa? She’s expecting me.”
The woman let the clipboard fall the few inches down to the desk with a clatter. “Name?”
“Blaine Anderson.”
She narrowed her eyes and flipped through a calendar that had been sitting to the side of the desk. “I see,” she said. “Go on back, she’s the second door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Blaine nodded politely at her and walked purposely back past the desk. He got a weird vibe from the woman, but he put that out of his mind as he made his way back through the building. The first door he passed was closed, and Blaine couldn’t see inside, but the door the woman had indicated was propped open, and he could see a light on inside the room. Looking in, a woman not much older than himself with a pixie haircut was sitting behind a card table. It was functioning as a desk and took up most of the space in the room. A folding metal chair sat open on the near side of the table, and it was obvious that the room had originally been a large closet of some sort.
He knocked on the door and the woman looked up at him. “Mr. Anderson?” she asked.
“Yes, but please call me Blaine.”
“Blaine, then.” The woman nodded and stood, gesturing for him to come in and have a seat. “You can close the door.”
Blaine did as instructed, and as soon as the door was shut he realized that there were no windows in the room, and he felt very boxed in. He could understand why she normally left the door open.
“My name’s Lisa Allen,” the woman said, holding her hand out for Blaine to shake. “I’m the volunteer coordinator at this office of the American Red Cross.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Allen,” Blaine said as he returned her firm handshake.
“Please call me Lisa,” she said, and Blaine nodded in acknowledgement. “Now what brings you here to us today, Blaine?”
“Well, I’m interested in volunteering, obviously,” he said with a bit of a chuckle. “Luckily no one I know has been in a position to need blood or CPR, but I really appreciate the mission of this organization.”
Lisa nodded. “You said on the phone that you were court ordered to perform community service?”
Blaine ducked his head, still embarrassed about that. “Yes,” he agreed, “and I’ll need verification.”
“That’s more than fine,” Lisa told him, and Blaine felt a little bit calmer. “Have you ever given blood before?”
“Once when I was in high school, but I haven’t since then,” Blaine admitted. He hoped she wouldn’t ask the reason why he had stopped-he lost his virginity his freshman year of college and had thusly lost the legal right to donate blood for the rest of his life, and he didn’t want to jeopardize this volunteer opportunity because of his sexuality. Things had been going well so far, and while Lisa seemed to be the kind of woman who didn’t care about things like who’s straight and who’s not, he was still in the middle of conservative Ohio and that meant that the odds were never in his favor.
Except today, because Lisa took that at face value and moved onto her next question. “When are you available to volunteer?”
“I work at night, so I’m free all day. I’d be interested in helping out maybe four or five hours a day?” he said, turning the statement into a question.
Lisa made some notes on a paper on the table in front of her. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “Let’s tentatively say ten to two, Monday through Friday?”
Blaine nodded. “That sounds reasonable. What will I be doing?”
“What we need the most help with is registering blood donors and going over their paperwork to make sure that everything is in order and that they’re eligible to donate. Not only do we want their blood to be healthy for our recipients, we want to ensure that donating isn’t going to have any negative effects on the donor.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
“Sure!” Blaine said. “I’m open to doing whatever you’ll find more useful.”
Lisa smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s really a great attitude to have. Would you be willing to travel to blood drives across the city?”
Blaine began to nod but hesitated. “I don’t mind traveling, but it would need to be on a bus line.” He didn’t want to get into the specifics of why he couldn’t drive, but luckily Lisa didn’t seem to need any elaboration.
“That’s not a problem. We actually have our volunteers and staff meet up here, then travel to the drive site together in the truck. Those days usually run a little longer, sometimes from as early as eight to as late as five. Is that a problem at all?”
“No, that sounds great.”
“Wondeful! Everything seems to be in order, then.” Lisa shuffled some papers together on her table-cum-desk and smiled gently at him. “If you have the time today, would you mind sticking around and I’ll go over procedure with you? If you want, you can shadow one of our current volunteers this afternoon, too.”
“I’m all yours!” Blaine said, returning her smile.
He spent the rest of the day learning about what exactly the requirements were for the different types of blood donation-length of time between donation, donor weight requirements, travel restrictions, and, of course, the ridiculous policy of not accepting blood from any man who has had sex with another man in the past forty years (or even from anyone who’s had sex with such a man).
Blaine didn’t like the original policy but understood why it was put into place way back when. It had been outdated for decades, though, and while he didn’t agree with it at all and hated the feeling of discrimination he felt when Lisa explained it to him (she seemed to find it equally offensive, but didn’t say so outright), he had to admit that the Red Cross was still managing to do something good through blood drives. He felt conflicted about volunteering and showing support for the organization, but in the end the good the organization does (and, okay, the desire to get his community service completed, too) outweighed the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He filled out a lot of paperwork signing that he understood what was being required of him and then finished the day off like Lisa had suggested, sitting with a current volunteer and paying attention to what he was doing so that Blaine could feel more comfortable when he’d be on his own the next day. He was assured that someone would always be available if he had any questions, but it would be helpful if he could start handling things on his own as quickly as possible.
He left around one o’clock and stopped at McDonald’s on his walk home to pick up a burger and salad, and his hands were too full with the bag of food and his keys to check the mail on his way in.
A few hours later, he had completely forgotten about the mail when Cooper got back from the theater. “Someone’s got mail!” he sing-songed before the door was even closed, and Blaine looked over at him quizzically from the couch.
“Who’s it from?” he asked, holding his hand out for whatever had come for him.
Cooper’s face broke into a wide grin, and Blaine got a sinking feeling about this.
“Who, Cooper?” he demanded.
“It’s from the court!”
Blaine groaned. “Just hand it over?”
“Party pooper,” he accused, but he still gave up the envelope.
Blaine took it and checked the return address; his brother was telling the truth. He slid a finger under the flap, tore it open, and pulled out the letter that was inside. His eyes scanned the document, which began with the standard “Dear Mr. Anderson” before it deviated into something that Blaine hadn’t been expecting.
The letter fluttered down to his lap, forgotten. “Oh my god.”
“What is it?” Cooper asked, snatching the letter away. Blaine didn’t even fight to keep a hold of it, just sitting in sickened silence while his brother read. “Oh my god,” he echoed. “They want you to register as a sex offender?!”
“Unless we’ve both misread that letter, then yes,” Blaine responded, a misdirected bite in his voice.
“My brother, the sex offender,” Cooper stated, as if tasting the words. Blaine glared up at him. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“Cooper!”
“Alright, alright,” he said, gesturing at him to calm down. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I’m a teacher, Cooper. A person who works with children for forty hours a week.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow at him. “I may not have gone to college, but I do know what a teacher is.”
“Schools don’t generally hire sex offenders, Coop.”
“Oh,” he responded, deflating. He sank down on the other end of the couch, rereading the letter.
“Yeah,” Blaine said. “Oh.”
They sat in silence for a minute or two before Cooper spoke back up. “Just call Eric. I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”
Call Eric, his lawyer. Right. Eric would definitely know what to do about this.
He blinked as something dark was shoved in front of his face. “What the hell?” he asked, batting his brother’s hand away.
“You generally need a phone to call someone.”
“Uh, right.” He grabbed his cell from Cooper and scrolled through his contacts list until he came to his lawyer’s number. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he pressed the call button and lifted the phone to his ear.
It rang four times before switching over to voicemail. Blaine sighed; it was after business hours so he should have expected it, but he really wanted to take care of this immediately. He waited for the beep and then left his message.
“Hi Eric. It’s, uh, it’s Blaine Anderson. Michael’s son? Yeah, I just got this letter from the court saying I need to, uh, register as a sex offender? Um, what’s with that? You didn’t tell me anything about that. I’m kind of freaking out here and would love it if you could call me back as soon as you can. 614-691-8297. Thanks.”
Blaine had spent the rest of the evening doing research on his laptop about sex offender laws in Ohio. After a few hours online, he didn’t feel as completely adrift as he had when he first read the letter that afternoon. There were ways of getting out of the situation, but he was a bit confused after having read so many different web pages in such a short time. He’d decided to give up on it for the time being while he went to work, and he hoped to hear from Eric quickly.
Unfortunately, he still hadn’t received any phone calls before he had to leave for the Red Cross the next morning. He’d felt his phone vibrate in his pocket a few times throughout his shift, but he really wanted to make a great first impression so he’d ignored it until he was on his way home a little after two o’clock. His first day had gone well; he had to ask other volunteers for help a few times, but overall he had been a quick learner, and he left with a good feeling about the next few months of volunteering.
After walking the first block toward his apartment, he couldn’t stand the wait any longer and pulled out his phone. He had a few emails (all coupons and sales announcements from various companies), one missed call and one voicemail. He tapped the button to listen to the message and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Blaine, hi. It’s Eric. I just got your message from yesterday. I had mentioned the need to register as a sex offender during our meeting-” Blaine didn’t recall that at all, but he had still been in a bit of shock at the time, so it was more than possible that he had missed it. “-but we can definitely work something out. The best thing for you to do is to register right now, since failing to register in itself is another misdemeanor, and complete your community service. Once you’ve done that, it’ll be easier for me to get this taken care of. If you want to talk about this at all, let me know. Have a nice day.”
The message ended with a click. Blaine locked his phone and resisted the urge to throw it against a building. He had been hoping that his lawyer would have some sort of magical solution to this problem, but clearly that wasn’t the case. It made sense to do as he suggested, though, because another misdemeanor on his record really would not help his case.
Once he got home, he grudgingly filled out the registration form and submitted it online. The whole situation left a foul taste in his mouth, and even Roni noticed his bad mood that night at work. She told him to take the next night off to try and get his act together.
The next day, he mentioned his night off to Cooper once he’d gotten back from the theater, and he should have known nothing good could have come from it when his brother’s face broke into a mischievous grin. Actually, he should have known that before he said anything, but for some reason he thought it might be safe. Maybe this whole thing was making him crazy.
Either that, or his brother was the culprit. Both were equally as likely.
In any case, Cooper had suggested going out to a bar with a karaoke night to get his mind off of everything. Blaine had protested that he really didn’t want to spend his night off from work at the bar in a different bar, but Cooper had insisted. As much as Blaine hated to admit it, when his brother insisted on something, he was powerless to stop it.
That’s how he found himself sitting at a table in the back of The Birdcage nursing a bottle of Yuengling and watching Cooper on stage, over-performing a Carlos Santana song.
Really, he’d prefer sitting at home alone, curled up on the couch with some classic romantic comedy playing on the television, but he had to admit that watching his brother make a fool of himself did make him feel better. It wasn’t as relaxing as a movie in his pajamas, but he smiled at how ridiculous Cooper looked up on that stage. He never did understand that subtlety could actually convey a lot in a performance.
About halfway through the song, he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He whirled around in his seat, ready to fight. It was an embarrassing reflex left over from that horrible dance nearly a decade ago, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.
“Anderson, right?” the man asked, and Blaine shook his head to clear away the adrenaline running through his veins. “Oh, sorry, dude. Must’ve confused you with someone else.”
Blaine took a closer look at the man as he turned around to leave. He was wearing ill-fitting jeans (like most men, unfortunately) and a simple cotton shirt, but the thing that stuck out to him was a stripe of dark hair down the back of an otherwise bald head. It looked vaguely familiar, and a second later it hit him. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to stop the man from walking away. “Puck?”
The man turned around, and Blaine had been right. It was Puck.
“Yeah?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Sorry, you were right. I was just…” Blaine shook his head again and shrugged.
“Just…” Puck echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Confused?”
“Uh huh.”
“So… how are you? “ Blaine asked. “What are you doing here?”
Puck shrugged and nodded toward the stage. “Same thing that guy’s doing, only better.”
Blaine laughed in spite of his foul mood. “No, I mean, like, what are you doing not… in the place I first met you?” he asked, not sure if mentioning jail was some sort of faux pas or something.
Puck looked like he was debating commenting on his word choice, but instead he said, “Got out early.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about the police looking for you?”
“Nah, man, good behavior or some shit.”
“Of course,” Blaine said, feeling a little relieved.
Puck leaned in and lowered his voice. “You don’t want to buy anything, do you?”
“What?” He narrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He had an almost-full beer in front of him that Puck could clearly see.
“I got out early, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t lose a lot of customers while I was away. You seem like someone I could trust.”
“Uh, thanks?” Hadn’t Puck told him he was doing time for drugs? Blaine had thought at the time that it had been for possession or something, but maybe it was for dealing. “But, uh, I’m not really into-“
Blaine was cut off by his brother’s exuberant return. Cooper rested an arm on his shoulders and Blaine just knew he was smiling at Puck.
“Hi, Coop,” he said. “This is Puck.” He waved at the man standing in front of them. “Puck, this is my brother, Cooper.”
“Pleased to meet you!” Cooper said brightly, extending a hand. Blaine knew that some of the etiquette lessons they had received as a child had stuck with his brother as much as they had with Blaine himself.
Puck, on the other hand, apparently hadn’t had such lessons as a child, or if he had, he had forgotten them long ago. He looked Cooper up and down, sizing him up. In the end, he shook Cooper’s hand with a “Yeah, same,” but he didn’t continue on with their previous conversation. Blaine breathed a sigh of relief.
There was an awkward moment of silence before Cooper leaned down so that Blaine could hear him better over the two women belting out a flat rendition of It’s Raining Men. “You should probably go up and pick out a song. I signed you up after these two idiots.”
Blaine groaned. “Really, Coop?”
His brother smiled at him in return.
“You know what? Whatever. Fine.” He chugged down the rest of his beer and made his way over to the list of available songs. He was frustrated with Cooper for having signed him up without his knowledge, he was annoyed with Cooper for having dragged him out to the bar in the first place, he was worried about what Cooper would do to Puck while he was gone, he was nervous about Puck would do to Cooper while he was gone, and he was angry with himself for getting into this whole solicitation and sex offender mess in the first place.
He was supposed to be enjoying not being a college student any longer and not having to go to class or read assignments or write papers. Instead, he was essentially working two jobs, neither of which made use of his degree that cost more than a teacher made in five years and one of which came without pay, and he was dealing with people who only seemed to make his life worse.
He looked down the list of songs and chose the first former Top 40 hit he saw, then waited for the two horribly drunk and terribly off-key women to finish their song.
Climbing onto the stage, he grabbed hold of the microphone and waited for the music to start.
White knuckles and sweaty palms from hanging on too tight
Clenched shut jaw, I've got another headache again tonight
A few lines in, Blaine was already starting to relax. It felt good to let go and to let his emotions flow into the words of the song. If he were completely honest with himself, he missed singing and performing, though he would never admit to his brother that maybe tonight hadn’t been as horrible of an idea as he had originally thought. Of course, karaoke was a laughable substitute for performing in front of a packed auditorium with all eyes on you instead of their friends or their beers, and the energy was completely different, but despite all of that, singing in front of people was putting him in a better mood-especially as more and more people put their conversations on hold and turned to watch his performance.
I think I've finally had enough, I think I maybe think too much
I think this might be it for us (blow me one last kiss)
You think I'm just too serious, I think you're full of shit
My head is spinning so (blow me one last kiss)
Just when it can't get worse, I've had a shit day
Have you had a shit day? We've had a shit day
I think that life's too short for this, I want back my ignorance and bliss
I think I've had enough of this, blow me one last kiss.
He scanned the room as he hit the second chorus, and he almost stopped singing in shock when he saw Kurt sitting a few tables away from Cooper and Puck, who were still talking (about what, Blaine wasn’t sure he wanted to know). He didn’t actually stop singing, of course-he was much too practiced of a performer for that-but he did stare Kurt down and add the resulting extra emotional baggage into the rest of the song.
Kurt hadn’t been Blaine’s first one night stand, but he had been the first since his freshman year of college. He had learned quickly that that wasn’t what he was looking for, but with all of the crap going on in his life, relaxing and having some fun for one night hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea at the time.
Yet now, here he was, singing a ridiculous breakup song at this man who had gotten him arrested and who had made him feel so amazing one stupid night and who had left the next morning but had written Blaine a note like some weirdly domestic apology.
I will do what I please, anything that I want
I will breathe, I will breathe, I won't worry at all
You will pay for your sins, you'll be sorry my dear
All the lies, all the why's, will all be crystal clear
He felt even more energized as the song went on. Singing had always been therapeutic for him, and even if seeing his one night stand-and he had to tell himself that that’s all that it was and all it ever would be-had thrown him off a bit, pouring the extra emotion into his performance helped.
Kurt was entranced from the moment Blaine noticed him until the last repeat of the chorus, at which point he tapped something into his phone on the table in front of him, then pocketed it and moved away from his table. Blaine lost track of him as he finished off the song, and he told himself it was for the best as he headed back to his table. He picked up another round of beers on the way (buying one for Puck was another consequence of his childhood etiquette lessons), and he tried to work through his thoughts about Kurt as he weaved through the tables back to Cooper and Puck.
Blaine wasn’t happy that he had let himself get into the emotions involved with a one night stand again, but they had been pushed to the back of his mind with everything else that had been going on. He didn’t understand the note, but it wasn’t like either of them had a way to contact the other. He supposed that Kurt could have visited him at work-or even stayed for the end of Blaine’s song tonight-if he was interested in getting in touch, but clearly he hadn’t wanted to even when the ball was clearly in his court. The onus was on Kurt to contact Blaine, and he’d had opportunities to do so but hadn’t taken them. It had been a meaningless one night stand, and now that it was back in his mind, he needed to understand that nothing was going to come from it and put it back out of his mind.
He set one of the bottles down in front of his brother and held one out to Puck when he got back to the table.
“What’s this?” Puck asked, looking at him in confusion and not taking the beer.
“A bottle with delicious booze?” Blaine returned teasingly. Puck looked like he wasn’t sure he should trust it. “Just take it.”
Puck shrugged and took it from Blaine’s hand. “To badass singers,” he said, holding the beer up in mock toast.
Blaine grinned. “To freedom,” he said with a wink, clinking his bottle against Puck’s.
“To not worrying about our problems,” Cooper added, obviously not wanting to be left out.
“Hear, hear!” Puck said as he tapped their bottles together. He took a big sip, and Blaine and Cooper followed suit. “Thanks, dude,” he said, “and good luck with that sex offender stuff. That sucks balls.”
“What?” Blaine asked vaguely, turning to glare at Cooper, who suddenly was focused on an overweight man dancing drunkenly on the stage to Mambo Number Five.
Puck shrugged. “It just came up.”
“Uh huh.”
“It did! I’ve gotta go,” he said, glancing over his shoulder toward a group of people on the other side of the bar, “but seriously, man, good luck with that shit.”
“Thanks, Puck,” Blaine said with a chuckle.
Puck stuffed something into the front pocket of Blaine’s shirt. “So you can let me know if you ever-“
“I will,” Blaine said, cutting him off. He was positive that Cooper had at least tried pot, but he really didn’t want to give his brother any more ammunition for teasing him (or, heaven forbid, letting slip to their parents). Luckily Cooper was still paying attention to the inebriated monstrosity on stage.
Puck nodded. “See you around.”
“See you around,” Blaine echoed, and he felt his phone buzz in his pants pocket as Puck left. He pulled it out and saw that he had a few new emails, but the buzz had been for a new text message.
From Kurt Hummel.
They definitely hadn’t exchanged numbers, so there was no reason why Blaine would-or could-have Kurt’s number saved in his phone. He took a gulp of his beer and figured that Kurt had probably programmed his number in when he left that stupid note that just complicated everything further in Blaine’s head. He must have sent himself a text so that he could get Blaine’s number and then deleted the evidence. It almost felt like a punch in the gut that this man had managed to trick him again, even though this time had been exceptionally minor.
He knocked back more of the beer and opened the text.
You never told me you could sing! You sounded fantastic up there. :)
Blaine couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. That seemed to get Cooper’s attention away from the stage, and he looked over at Blaine with a questioning look.
Blaine shrugged in response and finished off his beer. He had no idea how to take that text or if he even wanted to respond, and the noise in the bar really wasn’t helping matters. “I’m heading home,” he announced.
“What? Why?” Cooper asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.
“I just… need to go. You can come with me or stay here. I don’t care, but I’m going.”
“Okay,” Cooper replied. “I’ll join you. Just give me a second to finish this?” He held up the beer Blaine had brought over.
“Sure, but make it fast,” Blaine huffed. He was in no mood to deal with his brother’s antics right now, but he was at least glad that Cooper seemed to have picked up on the change in his mood. It was probably good, too, that he wasn’t going to be trying to get home alone between his bad mood and the alcohol he’d had.
Cooper chugged the rest of his drink, and he pulled on his scarf and coat as Blaine did the same. They made it home without incident, and Blaine passed out, fully dressed, on his bed before he could analyze the text message and how to respond as well as before Cooper could get out of him what had happened.
Part 4