Glee Fic: The Fame Monster (1/?) (Kurt/Mike)
Title: The Fame Monster
Chapter: 1/?
Characters/Pairings: Just about everyone is featured at some point... will eventually be Kurt/Mike
Length: Currently ~1,000 words
Rating: PG-13 eventually
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
AN: This is written for the Mike/Kurt Summer Love Fic Fest. The prompt was #68: Movie star Kurt, Bodyguard Mike... The real reason Kurt Hummel doesn't date. This is, obviously, a complete AU. Updates will probably be fairly irregular because I'm a lazy writer :P
Summary: Mike Chang really doesn't like Kurt Hummel. Mike Chang thinks Kurt Hummel is an egotistical, pretentious fame-whore. Too bad Mike Chang's new job is protecting Kurt Hummel.
New York. The most crowded city in the US of A. He had been living here for two years now, but the grandiose skyscrapers always brought out the wide-eyed and wondering child in Mike Chang. Well, almost always. Right now, the spectacular sights were rushing by in a blur under a clear, blue as he dashed down the sidewalk. The SS Corporation building wasn’t far away, but if he didn’t hurry up he would definitely be late for his appointment. His tardiness wasn’t his fault though; what kind of psycho calls at 1:00 to schedule a meeting at 1:15?
Matt hadn’t even been able to give him the details of the call. There was no time, all his boss could do was yell out the destination and the time. That Matt had even agreed to this meeting after hearing when it was to take place was incredible. This must be one hell of a client. That meant this job interview needed to go smooth. Business had been slow lately, but this might perk things up a bit.
Mike turned a corner sharply. He could see in front of him the giant building; it was the tallest in Manhattan since the destruction of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Ginormous, neon yellow letters covered many of the windows facing the road, announcing that this architectural monster was property of SS Corp. A common joke among the inhabitants of the city stated that at night, these letters were so bright the moon was actually reflecting their light back towards the earth, rather than the sun’s.
The crowds that meandered down the sidewalk parted around him as Mike made a final sprint for the doors, like a racer speeding towards the finish line. He skidded through the entrance into the lobby, frantically checking his watch. It was now 1:14. He’d made it, and he was early, too!
Mike approached the front desk, still gasping lightly for breath. (On short sprints, he was invincible, but he wasn’t made for cross country, damn it!) The pretty, blonde receptionist smiled cheerfully at him, but her wide grin was quelled as the angry Latina woman who stood beside her put down the folder she’d been rifling through and glared down her nose at him.
“This is invitation-only,” she informed him. “SS doesn’t hire the unemployed and hopeless off the street, you know. Go grab a newspaper and check out the Help Wanted Section, because you’re not wanted here. Find somewhere you are.”
Mike frowned at her. He knew he probably looked rough, but they were the ones who made the appointment. They caught him on his lunch break! Of course his shirt was untucked and his jacket was hanging loose.
He coughed once to clear his throat, which was slightly dry after his run, then said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but your boss called me, okay? He was interested in my services, I guess. I’m Michael Chang, from Rutherford Security.”
The blonde perked up immediately. “Oooh, that’s right, you do have an invite! I remember now!”
She turned to her co-worker, saying, “I made the call. I guess I forgot. Sometimes, my brain hibernates. Like a bear. And then, I forget things.”
The other woman scowled, pursing flawless lips together. She stared directly over his shoulder as she spoke to him, never once looking him in the eyes. For this at least Mike was glad - one glance into her eyes would probably turn him into stone. “Go sit in the waiting room. Down the hall, first door on the left. We’ll call you for your interview.”
Mike smirked, tipping an imaginary hat towards the two women. (A little screw-you to the one with the bad temper.) As he followed the directions, however, he began to wonder. What was this invite they kept mentioning? He was here to discuss possible employment, not attend a party. What could they possibly mean?
The meaning became clear to him as he entered the room. For a moment, he stood, befuddled, in the doorway, as he stared at the assembled men. He collected himself quickly, and took a seat. Realisation hit quickly as one of the men was called, and sent to “Room 112.” This wasn’t a job interview!
This was a goddamn audition!
Mike fumed silently. This was humiliating. Rutherford Security worked by a tried-and-true system. The call was made, Matt assigned a man to the job, and a meeting was held to discuss terms. The man was not forced to compete for the position.
Their business had a reputation for getting the job done with minimal fuss and complete devotion to details. Pitting him against the employees of other companies was both insulting and very out of the norm.
Just then, the call came in, asking for “Michael Chang in Room 112.”
He stopped by the front desk once again to quickly ask for directions. The bubbly receptionist sent him off after briefly consulting with her still-present and still-irritated co-worker. (She knew Room 112 was down the left hallway, not the right, but she wasn’t sure which was which.)
As Mike followed her directions, he considered his chances at getting this job. After all, there had to be over a hundred potential personal body guards in this room.
Who the hell had organized this?
Who the hell was crazy enough to organize this?
Mike opened the door to Room 112. Before him there was an absurdly large desk - it had to be at least four feet long. It was so outlandish and so out of proportion with all the other furniture in the room that it looked cartoonish. Behind the desk was a chair, that was currently facing out towards the window, where a spectacular vista of the New York City skyline could be seen. The chair spun around, and Mike was momentarily blinded by the bright red of the occupant’s tracksuit.
The woman reached across her desk to adjust the position of a large golden plaque. Upon this plaque it was inscribed,
Sue Sylvester
Owner of the SS Corporation
The Real Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.
(Suck it, Douglas Adams.)
AN: Part Two is now up. Read it here.
Chapter: 1/?
Characters/Pairings: Just about everyone is featured at some point... will eventually be Kurt/Mike
Length: Currently ~1,000 words
Rating: PG-13 eventually
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
AN: This is written for the Mike/Kurt Summer Love Fic Fest. The prompt was #68: Movie star Kurt, Bodyguard Mike... The real reason Kurt Hummel doesn't date. This is, obviously, a complete AU. Updates will probably be fairly irregular because I'm a lazy writer :P
Summary: Mike Chang really doesn't like Kurt Hummel. Mike Chang thinks Kurt Hummel is an egotistical, pretentious fame-whore. Too bad Mike Chang's new job is protecting Kurt Hummel.
New York. The most crowded city in the US of A. He had been living here for two years now, but the grandiose skyscrapers always brought out the wide-eyed and wondering child in Mike Chang. Well, almost always. Right now, the spectacular sights were rushing by in a blur under a clear, blue as he dashed down the sidewalk. The SS Corporation building wasn’t far away, but if he didn’t hurry up he would definitely be late for his appointment. His tardiness wasn’t his fault though; what kind of psycho calls at 1:00 to schedule a meeting at 1:15?
Matt hadn’t even been able to give him the details of the call. There was no time, all his boss could do was yell out the destination and the time. That Matt had even agreed to this meeting after hearing when it was to take place was incredible. This must be one hell of a client. That meant this job interview needed to go smooth. Business had been slow lately, but this might perk things up a bit.
Mike turned a corner sharply. He could see in front of him the giant building; it was the tallest in Manhattan since the destruction of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Ginormous, neon yellow letters covered many of the windows facing the road, announcing that this architectural monster was property of SS Corp. A common joke among the inhabitants of the city stated that at night, these letters were so bright the moon was actually reflecting their light back towards the earth, rather than the sun’s.
The crowds that meandered down the sidewalk parted around him as Mike made a final sprint for the doors, like a racer speeding towards the finish line. He skidded through the entrance into the lobby, frantically checking his watch. It was now 1:14. He’d made it, and he was early, too!
Mike approached the front desk, still gasping lightly for breath. (On short sprints, he was invincible, but he wasn’t made for cross country, damn it!) The pretty, blonde receptionist smiled cheerfully at him, but her wide grin was quelled as the angry Latina woman who stood beside her put down the folder she’d been rifling through and glared down her nose at him.
“This is invitation-only,” she informed him. “SS doesn’t hire the unemployed and hopeless off the street, you know. Go grab a newspaper and check out the Help Wanted Section, because you’re not wanted here. Find somewhere you are.”
Mike frowned at her. He knew he probably looked rough, but they were the ones who made the appointment. They caught him on his lunch break! Of course his shirt was untucked and his jacket was hanging loose.
He coughed once to clear his throat, which was slightly dry after his run, then said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but your boss called me, okay? He was interested in my services, I guess. I’m Michael Chang, from Rutherford Security.”
The blonde perked up immediately. “Oooh, that’s right, you do have an invite! I remember now!”
She turned to her co-worker, saying, “I made the call. I guess I forgot. Sometimes, my brain hibernates. Like a bear. And then, I forget things.”
The other woman scowled, pursing flawless lips together. She stared directly over his shoulder as she spoke to him, never once looking him in the eyes. For this at least Mike was glad - one glance into her eyes would probably turn him into stone. “Go sit in the waiting room. Down the hall, first door on the left. We’ll call you for your interview.”
Mike smirked, tipping an imaginary hat towards the two women. (A little screw-you to the one with the bad temper.) As he followed the directions, however, he began to wonder. What was this invite they kept mentioning? He was here to discuss possible employment, not attend a party. What could they possibly mean?
The meaning became clear to him as he entered the room. For a moment, he stood, befuddled, in the doorway, as he stared at the assembled men. He collected himself quickly, and took a seat. Realisation hit quickly as one of the men was called, and sent to “Room 112.” This wasn’t a job interview!
This was a goddamn audition!
Mike fumed silently. This was humiliating. Rutherford Security worked by a tried-and-true system. The call was made, Matt assigned a man to the job, and a meeting was held to discuss terms. The man was not forced to compete for the position.
Their business had a reputation for getting the job done with minimal fuss and complete devotion to details. Pitting him against the employees of other companies was both insulting and very out of the norm.
Just then, the call came in, asking for “Michael Chang in Room 112.”
He stopped by the front desk once again to quickly ask for directions. The bubbly receptionist sent him off after briefly consulting with her still-present and still-irritated co-worker. (She knew Room 112 was down the left hallway, not the right, but she wasn’t sure which was which.)
As Mike followed her directions, he considered his chances at getting this job. After all, there had to be over a hundred potential personal body guards in this room.
Who the hell had organized this?
Who the hell was crazy enough to organize this?
Mike opened the door to Room 112. Before him there was an absurdly large desk - it had to be at least four feet long. It was so outlandish and so out of proportion with all the other furniture in the room that it looked cartoonish. Behind the desk was a chair, that was currently facing out towards the window, where a spectacular vista of the New York City skyline could be seen. The chair spun around, and Mike was momentarily blinded by the bright red of the occupant’s tracksuit.
The woman reached across her desk to adjust the position of a large golden plaque. Upon this plaque it was inscribed,
Sue Sylvester
Owner of the SS Corporation
The Real Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.
(Suck it, Douglas Adams.)
AN: Part Two is now up. Read it here.