First Batch of Instead of Hugs Ficlets: Chris/Cory, Finn/Kurt, Kurt/Mike, Mal/Simon
Here's the first batch of ficlets. Expect the others to follow during the next couple of days.
Title: Baby, I'm yours (And I'll be yours until two and two is three)
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Chris/Cory
Word Count: 1500
Spoilers: For Theatricality
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX. The title quotes the Barbara Lewis song Baby, I’m yours
Warnings: RPS, slight angst, schmoop
EDIT 7/17/2013 for Cory's death: I wrote this story during the first season, and at the time I honestly wasn't aware that Cory Monteith had indeed been struggling with addiction. I just reread this story because someone kudos'ed it on AO3, and realizing that I made him get very drunk as a way of coping in this story makes me very uncomfortable, knowing what I do now. People generally seemed to enjoy the story, here and on AO3, when I first posted it, so I am not going to take it down, but please, be warned for alcohol consumption that is problematic even for someone who does not have issues with addiction, but would definitely be considered a relapse for someone who does.
Summary: It’s Chris’ birthday, and while the rest of the cast is celebrating with him in a small, cozy club in SoHo, Cory is holed up in a hotel room somewhere on the Upper East Side, staring at his cell phone and steadily drinking himself into oblivion.
A/N: For morgan_d, whose prompt was: Glee RPF, Cory/Chris, "faggy" scene. Could also be read as a companion piece to this drabble.
Title: Baby, I'm yours (And I'll be yours until two and two is three)
His iphone, every time he looks at it, doesn’t hesitate to remind him that today is May 27. As if he didn’t know what day it is.
Today is Chris’ 20th birthday. It’s Chris’ birthday, and while the rest of the cast is celebrating with him in a small, cozy club in SoHo, Cory is holed up in a hotel room somewhere on the Upper East Side, staring at his cell phone and steadily drinking himself into oblivion.
Or at least he’s trying, because no matter how many gulps he takes from the whiskey bottle in his lap, he still can see Chris’ face falling when he told him that he wouldn’t be able to come.
“But …” Chris said, sounding lost and very young, “I thought …”
“Sorry, buddy,” Cory replied, in a tone far too jovial to be honest. “I have a date.”
A date with a bottle of bourbon, more exactly, but Chris doesn’t know that. And Cory knows how much this has to hurt him, because they have been flirting for months now: a slow, gentle courtship, Cory being attentive and careful, watching Chris gradually open up to him, until only a couple of days ago he had actually found the courage to lean his head against Cory’s shoulder during a short break between takes. And Cory had forced himself not to jump up from his chair and cheer, instead had curled a protective hand around Chris’ neck and left it there until it was time to go back to work.
After that day, he barely could keep himself from ravishing Chris, but he told himself to be patient. He would wait till Chris’ birthday, he decided, chose a birthday present with great care, and felt his heart beat faster whenever he tried to imagine how Chris’ lips would feel under his.
And then Theatricality aired, and everything changed. Oh, he shouldn’t have been surprised, because well, he had actually been there when they had filmed it. But he’d never seen the whole episode after it was edited, and since for him, the scene at the Hummels’ house ended with Finn’s escape from Kurt’s basement, he’d never really got to find out what came after that either.
So when he watched himself disappear from view on screen, when he saw Chris’ face crumble into an expression of raw pain that was far too honest to be just Kurt’s, shoulders hunched helplessly, mouth twisted into something tortured and desperate, it hit Cory like a sledgehammer: He was the one who made Chris look like that. He had made Chris cry.
And because apparently he’s just as much of a coward as Finn, he did the only thing he could think of: he fled.
Which is why tonight, instead of dragging Chris into a dark corner of the club, cupping his rosy cheeks in his hands and tilting up his face for a tender, loving first kiss, he finds himself alone in his room with a bottle of liquor, not even man enough to send Chris a text message, or a tweet.
He finally passes out on his bed, empty bottle escaping from his lax hand and dropping to the floor, and sleeps until he wakes to the sound of his ringing cell phone. The screen informs him that it’s four am.
“You are an ass,” Amber tells him when he picks up.
“Did you have to wake me to tell me something I already know?” he complains, and winces at the sound of his voice, rough and scratchy around the edges.
Amber laughs a joyless laugh. “Fine, then I’ll tell you something you don’t know: Chris is currently puking his guts out in the ladies’ bathroom at the club. He was fine until around three, and then he got really drunk and started to cry that he was fat and ugly and that nobody would ever want him. Dijon, Kevin and Heather all offered to sleep with him just to prove him wrong, and if I thought it would help, I’d have let them.”
“Fuck,” Cory says, letting himself fall back against the pillows. His head hurts like someone took a baseball bat to it. He’d probably deserve that, too.
“Are you drunk?” Amber asks suspiciously, and he groans.
“Bourbon,” he says. “But only one bottle.”
“I see.” She doesn’t sound quite as angry anymore. “Look, we are taking Chris home now and putting him to bed. I know that you need to go to that breakfast thing tomorrow morning, but I’ll expect you to fix this as soon as we get back to the hotel. You hear me? Or I’ll make you regret that you ever auditioned for this show.”
The Glee breakfast is torture. He downs a lot of water and a handful of aspirin and tries not to show how shitty he feels for the sake of the fans, because it’s not their fault that Cory is behaving like the worst kind of Lima Loser, instead of a responsible young adult going on thirty. But he is still glad when he finally manages to escape.
Chris is awake, but still in bed when Cory knocks on his door. He looks pale, and tired, and terribly hung over, and when he sees who it is, he flinches and blushes and makes a futile attempt to fix his hair.
He needn’t have bothered. To Cory, he’s still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice still hoarse from alcohol and lack of sleep.
“For what?” Chris asks, wrapping his arms around himself like to protect himself. It hurts Cory to see him like that.
“For behaving like the worst asshole in the history of the world,” he says and watches Chris blush harder.
“It’s okay,” Chris says quietly, not looking at him. “You don’t need to apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed …”
“Chris,” Cory says. “Do you know how hard it is not to kiss you every time you walk on set?”
“What?” Chris’ head snaps up, and he looks at Cory with wide eyes. They are red, and bruised, like someone punched him in the face, and the sight makes Cory feel even worse.
“I. Damnit. I think about you all the time. About 99 percent of the pictures I take on set are photos of you. I’m crazy about you, and it scares me, because I’m an insensitive oaf, and I’ve done a lot of bad things in my youth, and you are so young and lovely and small, and I had this nightmare last week where I dreamt that you were in bed with me and I rolled over in my sleep and squashed you to death.”
He stops himself, taking a deep breath, and Chris blinks and shakes his head, as if he’s trying to make sure that he’s actually awake.
“Excuse me?” he asks, but at least he sound more confused than depressed now, which is definitely an improvement.
“The point is,” Cory says. “The point is that I watched the GaGa episode, and I - fuck. I yelled at you, and you cried, and God, I never want to hurt you like that ever again.”
“Wait,” Chris says slowly. “Are you saying that you didn’t come to my birthday party because your fictional character made my fictional character cry? During a scene in a completely fictional tv show?”
“I saw your face, Chris,” Cory says bitterly. “That wasn’t just Kurt who cried.”
Chris raises a brow. “No”, he admits. “No, you are right. But I didn’t cry because of you. I cried because of what the scene reminded me of. And that has nothing to do with you.” He sighs. “You didn’t hurt me when we did that scene. You hurt me when you wouldn’t talk to me the last week, and when you didn’t show up for my birthday.” He swallows. “I know that I’m not very experienced, or handsome, or interesting, and I don’t expect you to actually …”
“Stop right there,” Cory says. He crosses the room, and crawls on the bed, and even if he’s kneeling awkwardly on the too-soft mattress, he reaches out to cup Chris’ face in his large hands and tilts it up for a brief, sweet kiss.
When he pulls back, Chris’ eyes are closed, and he sighs softly. “Don’t mess with me, Cory, I beg you.”
“Chris,” he says, fingers still curled against Chris’ cheeks, brushing his ears. “If I could, I’d offer you my heart on a silver platter. Actually, I will, if you ask me to.”
Chris laughs softly. “As romantic as that sounds, I’d rather not literally hold your heart in my hands. Like, ever.”
Cory kisses him again, quickly, just because he can, and then he lets go and reaches into his pocket.
“Happy belated birthday, Chris,” he says, handing over the small rectangular package. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, because you deserve it, and more.”
Chris gingerly fingers the ribbon and smiles. “Stay right where you are, and I think your wish might just come true.”
Title: Having Kittens
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Finn, Burt, mention of Finn/Kurt
Word Count: 450
Spoilers: For Theatricality, sort of
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX.
Warnings: slightly crack-ish
Summary: Finn freaks out, Burt orders Pizza, and not everything is what it seems
A/N: For coffee_in_bed_1, whose prompt was: Glee, Finn/Kurt, kitten.
Having Kittens
“Kurt?” Finn says hesitantly, crouches down on the carpet, and warily stares at the tiny kitten sitting in the middle of their basement room.
“Meaow,” Kurt says, eyeing Finn’s outstretched hand suspiciously.
“Look,” Finn says, uncomfortably, “I know I said last night that you sound like a kitten when you come, and I probably deserved to get slapped for it, but I didn’t think you’d actually …”
“Meaow,” Kurt makes and takes a step forward to rub his tiny head against Finn’s knee. Without thinking, Finn starts scratching the fluffy fur between his ears. The kitten pushes into his touch and purrs. It sounds exactly like Kurt when they have sex.
“Uhm, Kurt,” Finn says when the kitten turns onto his back, baring his soft, white belly to Finn’s fingers. “You know, this is kind of weird. I really don’t think I should touch you like this while you are a cat.”
“Son?” Burt’s voice is right behind him, and Finn flinches, jumping to his feet.
“B-Burt,” he stammers. “I didn’t know you were home.”
Burt gives him a worried look. “Are you okay, son?” he asks. “Who are you talking to?”
“Uhm, Burt,” Finn says slowly. “I - I don’t know how to say this, but I think your son has turned into a cat.”
“Excuse me?” Burt says, frowning. “Is that an euphemism or something? Because then I think I’d rather not know. Anyway,” he continues, “your mom is still at work, and Kurt just called to say that he’s at the mall with the girls and won’t be here for dinner. So I thought we could just order pizza, if you want.”
Finn looks back and forth between the kitten and Burt. “So, are you saying that … this kitten isn’t Kurt?”
“Sorry?” Burt asks, confused. “Son, you sure you are alright?” He looks down at the little cat that has gotten bored with their conversation and has started to clean himself with a pink, raspy tongue.
“The Rutherfords’ cat cast its young two weeks ago, and he’s the runt of the litter. Apparently Kurt promised Matt that we’d take it without asking me first.” His face softens when he kneels to pet the cat.
“Kurt always wanted a cat, you know? And I know he’ll take good care of him.”
He rises again and heads towards the stairs. “I’m going to order the pizza,” he says, and then, just before he disappears from view: “And then you can tell me why on earth you thought that Kurt had turned into a kitten.”
“Oh hell,” Finn says and stares down at the kitten. “Now look what mess you got me into.”
“Meaow,” the cat says. Finn still thinks he looks a bit like Kurt.
Title: My love unfolds like a lotus blossom after the rain has stopped
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Mike/Kurt
Word Count: 630
Spoilers: For Home, sort of
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX.
Warnings: future-fic, schmoop
Summary: A night in Manhattan, six years from now
A/N: For momoda6, whose prompt was: Glee, Mike/Kurt, Dinner.
My love unfolds like a lotus blossom after the rain has stopped
“I’m so sorry,“ Kurt cries, flushing with embarrassment when for the umpteenth time, he loses his grip on his chopsticks and a piece of carrot drops back into his bowl. “I suck at this.”
Mike just laughs. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “You are doing fine. Do you want me to ask for a fork?”
“No!” Kurt says hastily before Mike can flag down the waiter. “No, don’t. They are already staring at me, anyway. I don’t want to make it worse.”
Mike laughs again, this happy, bright sound that Kurt didn’t know he missed until he ran into Mike at a bar in the Village in March. “They are staring because I used to work here when I first got to New York, and because they can’t believe that I actually got someone to go out with me. They kept telling me to bring a date, and I never did.”
“Why not?” Kurt dares to ask, worried that it’s too much. He doesn’t know Mike that well, after all. But Mike just shrugs.
“Guess I was waiting for the right one.”
Kurt’s heart suddenly beats a lot faster, and he’s still struggling to come up with an appropriate response when an elderly Chinese man saves him by approaching their table, smiling widely.
“Is everything alright with your food?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you, it’s delicious,” Kurt nods. “Easily the best Chinese food I’ve ever had.”
The man chuckles. “You are too kind,” he says, and then, to Mike: “Is this the young man you kept telling us about?”
Kurt raises his brows in surprise and watches Mike blush deeply. “Yes, yéye. That’s Kurt.”
The man pats Mike’s shoulder. “Well, I can see how he would be worth waiting for all these years.” He winks at Kurt. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again very soon.”
He leaves, and Mike doesn’t look at Kurt when he says: “That’s Mr. Li. He owns the restaurant.” He sounds distant, and just a little bit scared.
Kurt stares at him in disbelief. “He said years. He said you have been waiting for years. For me? What - I mean - “
Mike swallows. “Well, I didn’t plan for you to find out like this, but yes. It’s true. I mean, I always liked you, but I think the moment I fell for you was when you sang A house is not a home.”
Kurt presses a hand against his mouth. “That was in sophomore year. That was six years ago.”
Mike just nods, staring down at his food, and Kurt can’t stand to see him like this. Mike is supposed to be cheerful, and brave, not afraid of what Kurt of all people will think of him.
He reaches out tentatively, putting his hand over Mike’s where it rests on the table in a tightly clenched fist. “Why did you never say anything?” he asks.
Mike shrugs, and still doesn’t look at him, but his fingers uncurl under Kurt’s touch. “I was shy?” he says. “And not out? And you were clearly in love with Finn, and then there was Sam, and then you went to New York, and Mercedes kept telling me how successful you were and how popular … I just thought I’d never stand a chance.”
Kurt is surprised to realize that there are actually tears welling up in his eyes, and he blinks furiously to force them back. “Well,” he says, and his voice sounds shaky and choked. “Then it’s a good thing that we met again, right?”
Mike slowly raises his head, and his eyes are clear when he looks at Kurt. They are holding hands now, on top of the table, next to the kung-pao, for everyone to see.
“Yes,” he says, “really good.”
Title: Open your door, I’ll be your tenant
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Mal/Simon
Word Count: 355
Spoilers: None, really
Disclaimer: Firefly belongs to FOX and Joss Whedon. The title is a line from the RENT song I’ll cover you.
Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of schmoop
Summary: Just a bunch of old papers
A/N: For executrix, whose prompt was: Firefly, Mal/Simon, architecture.
Open your door, I’ll be your tenant
“Care to tell me what this is supposed to be?” Simon asks. He doesn’t look up from the construction drawings in his hands, but his tone doesn’t bode well.
Mal grunts and busies himself with his suspenders. “That’s nothing,” he says. “Just a bunch of old papers. They were in one of the crates we stole last week.”
“Right,” Simon says slowly. “So could you explain to me why it says ‘River’s room’ here, and why there’s a room named ‘Simon’s infirmary’? If they are just ‘a bunch of old papers’?”
“Gáisî!“ Mal curses and spins around to rip the plans out of Simon’s surprised hands. “I told you not to go through my stuff!”
“Woah,” Simon says, holding up his hands in a placatory gesture. “Why are you so angry? I was just asking.”
“Well, it’s none of your business, Doc,” Mal snaps, and watches Simon’s face close off.
“I see,” he says quietly. “In that case, I think I should probably sleep in my own bunk tonight. Captain.”
He turns towards the ladder, but Mal has got a hand clenched around his arm before he can set a foot on the lowest step.
“Wait,” he pleads, and Simon sighs.
“What, Mal?” he asks, with exasperation. “What?”
Mal lets go of Simon’s arm and rubs his face. “It’s nothing,” he says, eyes on the floor. “It’s yúchûn. Just … you keep talking about how you feel it’s time to think about settling down. And … I don’t see that I could ever give up Serenity, but … I reckon it could be nice to have a place. Somewhere. You know? Where we could stay if someone got hurt, or if we needed to be alone for a while.”
His shoulders are tense, and he actually flinches when Simon reaches out to touch his face.
“Mal,” Simon says gently, “oh Mal,” and pulls him in for a kiss.
“I love them,” he whispers when they part, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
Mal is quiet for a while, and then he laughs.
“Well, you better,” he says. “Seeing as how I already bought the land.”
***
Translation Chinese-English
yúchun - stupid
Gáisî! - Damnit!
Title: Baby, I'm yours (And I'll be yours until two and two is three)
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Chris/Cory
Word Count: 1500
Spoilers: For Theatricality
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX. The title quotes the Barbara Lewis song Baby, I’m yours
Warnings: RPS, slight angst, schmoop
EDIT 7/17/2013 for Cory's death: I wrote this story during the first season, and at the time I honestly wasn't aware that Cory Monteith had indeed been struggling with addiction. I just reread this story because someone kudos'ed it on AO3, and realizing that I made him get very drunk as a way of coping in this story makes me very uncomfortable, knowing what I do now. People generally seemed to enjoy the story, here and on AO3, when I first posted it, so I am not going to take it down, but please, be warned for alcohol consumption that is problematic even for someone who does not have issues with addiction, but would definitely be considered a relapse for someone who does.
Summary: It’s Chris’ birthday, and while the rest of the cast is celebrating with him in a small, cozy club in SoHo, Cory is holed up in a hotel room somewhere on the Upper East Side, staring at his cell phone and steadily drinking himself into oblivion.
A/N: For morgan_d, whose prompt was: Glee RPF, Cory/Chris, "faggy" scene. Could also be read as a companion piece to this drabble.
Title: Baby, I'm yours (And I'll be yours until two and two is three)
His iphone, every time he looks at it, doesn’t hesitate to remind him that today is May 27. As if he didn’t know what day it is.
Today is Chris’ 20th birthday. It’s Chris’ birthday, and while the rest of the cast is celebrating with him in a small, cozy club in SoHo, Cory is holed up in a hotel room somewhere on the Upper East Side, staring at his cell phone and steadily drinking himself into oblivion.
Or at least he’s trying, because no matter how many gulps he takes from the whiskey bottle in his lap, he still can see Chris’ face falling when he told him that he wouldn’t be able to come.
“But …” Chris said, sounding lost and very young, “I thought …”
“Sorry, buddy,” Cory replied, in a tone far too jovial to be honest. “I have a date.”
A date with a bottle of bourbon, more exactly, but Chris doesn’t know that. And Cory knows how much this has to hurt him, because they have been flirting for months now: a slow, gentle courtship, Cory being attentive and careful, watching Chris gradually open up to him, until only a couple of days ago he had actually found the courage to lean his head against Cory’s shoulder during a short break between takes. And Cory had forced himself not to jump up from his chair and cheer, instead had curled a protective hand around Chris’ neck and left it there until it was time to go back to work.
After that day, he barely could keep himself from ravishing Chris, but he told himself to be patient. He would wait till Chris’ birthday, he decided, chose a birthday present with great care, and felt his heart beat faster whenever he tried to imagine how Chris’ lips would feel under his.
And then Theatricality aired, and everything changed. Oh, he shouldn’t have been surprised, because well, he had actually been there when they had filmed it. But he’d never seen the whole episode after it was edited, and since for him, the scene at the Hummels’ house ended with Finn’s escape from Kurt’s basement, he’d never really got to find out what came after that either.
So when he watched himself disappear from view on screen, when he saw Chris’ face crumble into an expression of raw pain that was far too honest to be just Kurt’s, shoulders hunched helplessly, mouth twisted into something tortured and desperate, it hit Cory like a sledgehammer: He was the one who made Chris look like that. He had made Chris cry.
And because apparently he’s just as much of a coward as Finn, he did the only thing he could think of: he fled.
Which is why tonight, instead of dragging Chris into a dark corner of the club, cupping his rosy cheeks in his hands and tilting up his face for a tender, loving first kiss, he finds himself alone in his room with a bottle of liquor, not even man enough to send Chris a text message, or a tweet.
He finally passes out on his bed, empty bottle escaping from his lax hand and dropping to the floor, and sleeps until he wakes to the sound of his ringing cell phone. The screen informs him that it’s four am.
“You are an ass,” Amber tells him when he picks up.
“Did you have to wake me to tell me something I already know?” he complains, and winces at the sound of his voice, rough and scratchy around the edges.
Amber laughs a joyless laugh. “Fine, then I’ll tell you something you don’t know: Chris is currently puking his guts out in the ladies’ bathroom at the club. He was fine until around three, and then he got really drunk and started to cry that he was fat and ugly and that nobody would ever want him. Dijon, Kevin and Heather all offered to sleep with him just to prove him wrong, and if I thought it would help, I’d have let them.”
“Fuck,” Cory says, letting himself fall back against the pillows. His head hurts like someone took a baseball bat to it. He’d probably deserve that, too.
“Are you drunk?” Amber asks suspiciously, and he groans.
“Bourbon,” he says. “But only one bottle.”
“I see.” She doesn’t sound quite as angry anymore. “Look, we are taking Chris home now and putting him to bed. I know that you need to go to that breakfast thing tomorrow morning, but I’ll expect you to fix this as soon as we get back to the hotel. You hear me? Or I’ll make you regret that you ever auditioned for this show.”
The Glee breakfast is torture. He downs a lot of water and a handful of aspirin and tries not to show how shitty he feels for the sake of the fans, because it’s not their fault that Cory is behaving like the worst kind of Lima Loser, instead of a responsible young adult going on thirty. But he is still glad when he finally manages to escape.
Chris is awake, but still in bed when Cory knocks on his door. He looks pale, and tired, and terribly hung over, and when he sees who it is, he flinches and blushes and makes a futile attempt to fix his hair.
He needn’t have bothered. To Cory, he’s still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice still hoarse from alcohol and lack of sleep.
“For what?” Chris asks, wrapping his arms around himself like to protect himself. It hurts Cory to see him like that.
“For behaving like the worst asshole in the history of the world,” he says and watches Chris blush harder.
“It’s okay,” Chris says quietly, not looking at him. “You don’t need to apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed …”
“Chris,” Cory says. “Do you know how hard it is not to kiss you every time you walk on set?”
“What?” Chris’ head snaps up, and he looks at Cory with wide eyes. They are red, and bruised, like someone punched him in the face, and the sight makes Cory feel even worse.
“I. Damnit. I think about you all the time. About 99 percent of the pictures I take on set are photos of you. I’m crazy about you, and it scares me, because I’m an insensitive oaf, and I’ve done a lot of bad things in my youth, and you are so young and lovely and small, and I had this nightmare last week where I dreamt that you were in bed with me and I rolled over in my sleep and squashed you to death.”
He stops himself, taking a deep breath, and Chris blinks and shakes his head, as if he’s trying to make sure that he’s actually awake.
“Excuse me?” he asks, but at least he sound more confused than depressed now, which is definitely an improvement.
“The point is,” Cory says. “The point is that I watched the GaGa episode, and I - fuck. I yelled at you, and you cried, and God, I never want to hurt you like that ever again.”
“Wait,” Chris says slowly. “Are you saying that you didn’t come to my birthday party because your fictional character made my fictional character cry? During a scene in a completely fictional tv show?”
“I saw your face, Chris,” Cory says bitterly. “That wasn’t just Kurt who cried.”
Chris raises a brow. “No”, he admits. “No, you are right. But I didn’t cry because of you. I cried because of what the scene reminded me of. And that has nothing to do with you.” He sighs. “You didn’t hurt me when we did that scene. You hurt me when you wouldn’t talk to me the last week, and when you didn’t show up for my birthday.” He swallows. “I know that I’m not very experienced, or handsome, or interesting, and I don’t expect you to actually …”
“Stop right there,” Cory says. He crosses the room, and crawls on the bed, and even if he’s kneeling awkwardly on the too-soft mattress, he reaches out to cup Chris’ face in his large hands and tilts it up for a brief, sweet kiss.
When he pulls back, Chris’ eyes are closed, and he sighs softly. “Don’t mess with me, Cory, I beg you.”
“Chris,” he says, fingers still curled against Chris’ cheeks, brushing his ears. “If I could, I’d offer you my heart on a silver platter. Actually, I will, if you ask me to.”
Chris laughs softly. “As romantic as that sounds, I’d rather not literally hold your heart in my hands. Like, ever.”
Cory kisses him again, quickly, just because he can, and then he lets go and reaches into his pocket.
“Happy belated birthday, Chris,” he says, handing over the small rectangular package. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, because you deserve it, and more.”
Chris gingerly fingers the ribbon and smiles. “Stay right where you are, and I think your wish might just come true.”
Title: Having Kittens
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Finn, Burt, mention of Finn/Kurt
Word Count: 450
Spoilers: For Theatricality, sort of
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX.
Warnings: slightly crack-ish
Summary: Finn freaks out, Burt orders Pizza, and not everything is what it seems
A/N: For coffee_in_bed_1, whose prompt was: Glee, Finn/Kurt, kitten.
Having Kittens
“Kurt?” Finn says hesitantly, crouches down on the carpet, and warily stares at the tiny kitten sitting in the middle of their basement room.
“Meaow,” Kurt says, eyeing Finn’s outstretched hand suspiciously.
“Look,” Finn says, uncomfortably, “I know I said last night that you sound like a kitten when you come, and I probably deserved to get slapped for it, but I didn’t think you’d actually …”
“Meaow,” Kurt makes and takes a step forward to rub his tiny head against Finn’s knee. Without thinking, Finn starts scratching the fluffy fur between his ears. The kitten pushes into his touch and purrs. It sounds exactly like Kurt when they have sex.
“Uhm, Kurt,” Finn says when the kitten turns onto his back, baring his soft, white belly to Finn’s fingers. “You know, this is kind of weird. I really don’t think I should touch you like this while you are a cat.”
“Son?” Burt’s voice is right behind him, and Finn flinches, jumping to his feet.
“B-Burt,” he stammers. “I didn’t know you were home.”
Burt gives him a worried look. “Are you okay, son?” he asks. “Who are you talking to?”
“Uhm, Burt,” Finn says slowly. “I - I don’t know how to say this, but I think your son has turned into a cat.”
“Excuse me?” Burt says, frowning. “Is that an euphemism or something? Because then I think I’d rather not know. Anyway,” he continues, “your mom is still at work, and Kurt just called to say that he’s at the mall with the girls and won’t be here for dinner. So I thought we could just order pizza, if you want.”
Finn looks back and forth between the kitten and Burt. “So, are you saying that … this kitten isn’t Kurt?”
“Sorry?” Burt asks, confused. “Son, you sure you are alright?” He looks down at the little cat that has gotten bored with their conversation and has started to clean himself with a pink, raspy tongue.
“The Rutherfords’ cat cast its young two weeks ago, and he’s the runt of the litter. Apparently Kurt promised Matt that we’d take it without asking me first.” His face softens when he kneels to pet the cat.
“Kurt always wanted a cat, you know? And I know he’ll take good care of him.”
He rises again and heads towards the stairs. “I’m going to order the pizza,” he says, and then, just before he disappears from view: “And then you can tell me why on earth you thought that Kurt had turned into a kitten.”
“Oh hell,” Finn says and stares down at the kitten. “Now look what mess you got me into.”
“Meaow,” the cat says. Finn still thinks he looks a bit like Kurt.
Title: My love unfolds like a lotus blossom after the rain has stopped
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Mike/Kurt
Word Count: 630
Spoilers: For Home, sort of
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX.
Warnings: future-fic, schmoop
Summary: A night in Manhattan, six years from now
A/N: For momoda6, whose prompt was: Glee, Mike/Kurt, Dinner.
My love unfolds like a lotus blossom after the rain has stopped
“I’m so sorry,“ Kurt cries, flushing with embarrassment when for the umpteenth time, he loses his grip on his chopsticks and a piece of carrot drops back into his bowl. “I suck at this.”
Mike just laughs. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “You are doing fine. Do you want me to ask for a fork?”
“No!” Kurt says hastily before Mike can flag down the waiter. “No, don’t. They are already staring at me, anyway. I don’t want to make it worse.”
Mike laughs again, this happy, bright sound that Kurt didn’t know he missed until he ran into Mike at a bar in the Village in March. “They are staring because I used to work here when I first got to New York, and because they can’t believe that I actually got someone to go out with me. They kept telling me to bring a date, and I never did.”
“Why not?” Kurt dares to ask, worried that it’s too much. He doesn’t know Mike that well, after all. But Mike just shrugs.
“Guess I was waiting for the right one.”
Kurt’s heart suddenly beats a lot faster, and he’s still struggling to come up with an appropriate response when an elderly Chinese man saves him by approaching their table, smiling widely.
“Is everything alright with your food?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you, it’s delicious,” Kurt nods. “Easily the best Chinese food I’ve ever had.”
The man chuckles. “You are too kind,” he says, and then, to Mike: “Is this the young man you kept telling us about?”
Kurt raises his brows in surprise and watches Mike blush deeply. “Yes, yéye. That’s Kurt.”
The man pats Mike’s shoulder. “Well, I can see how he would be worth waiting for all these years.” He winks at Kurt. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you again very soon.”
He leaves, and Mike doesn’t look at Kurt when he says: “That’s Mr. Li. He owns the restaurant.” He sounds distant, and just a little bit scared.
Kurt stares at him in disbelief. “He said years. He said you have been waiting for years. For me? What - I mean - “
Mike swallows. “Well, I didn’t plan for you to find out like this, but yes. It’s true. I mean, I always liked you, but I think the moment I fell for you was when you sang A house is not a home.”
Kurt presses a hand against his mouth. “That was in sophomore year. That was six years ago.”
Mike just nods, staring down at his food, and Kurt can’t stand to see him like this. Mike is supposed to be cheerful, and brave, not afraid of what Kurt of all people will think of him.
He reaches out tentatively, putting his hand over Mike’s where it rests on the table in a tightly clenched fist. “Why did you never say anything?” he asks.
Mike shrugs, and still doesn’t look at him, but his fingers uncurl under Kurt’s touch. “I was shy?” he says. “And not out? And you were clearly in love with Finn, and then there was Sam, and then you went to New York, and Mercedes kept telling me how successful you were and how popular … I just thought I’d never stand a chance.”
Kurt is surprised to realize that there are actually tears welling up in his eyes, and he blinks furiously to force them back. “Well,” he says, and his voice sounds shaky and choked. “Then it’s a good thing that we met again, right?”
Mike slowly raises his head, and his eyes are clear when he looks at Kurt. They are holding hands now, on top of the table, next to the kung-pao, for everyone to see.
“Yes,” he says, “really good.”
Title: Open your door, I’ll be your tenant
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Mal/Simon
Word Count: 355
Spoilers: None, really
Disclaimer: Firefly belongs to FOX and Joss Whedon. The title is a line from the RENT song I’ll cover you.
Warnings: a bit of angst, a bit of schmoop
Summary: Just a bunch of old papers
A/N: For executrix, whose prompt was: Firefly, Mal/Simon, architecture.
Open your door, I’ll be your tenant
“Care to tell me what this is supposed to be?” Simon asks. He doesn’t look up from the construction drawings in his hands, but his tone doesn’t bode well.
Mal grunts and busies himself with his suspenders. “That’s nothing,” he says. “Just a bunch of old papers. They were in one of the crates we stole last week.”
“Right,” Simon says slowly. “So could you explain to me why it says ‘River’s room’ here, and why there’s a room named ‘Simon’s infirmary’? If they are just ‘a bunch of old papers’?”
“Gáisî!“ Mal curses and spins around to rip the plans out of Simon’s surprised hands. “I told you not to go through my stuff!”
“Woah,” Simon says, holding up his hands in a placatory gesture. “Why are you so angry? I was just asking.”
“Well, it’s none of your business, Doc,” Mal snaps, and watches Simon’s face close off.
“I see,” he says quietly. “In that case, I think I should probably sleep in my own bunk tonight. Captain.”
He turns towards the ladder, but Mal has got a hand clenched around his arm before he can set a foot on the lowest step.
“Wait,” he pleads, and Simon sighs.
“What, Mal?” he asks, with exasperation. “What?”
Mal lets go of Simon’s arm and rubs his face. “It’s nothing,” he says, eyes on the floor. “It’s yúchûn. Just … you keep talking about how you feel it’s time to think about settling down. And … I don’t see that I could ever give up Serenity, but … I reckon it could be nice to have a place. Somewhere. You know? Where we could stay if someone got hurt, or if we needed to be alone for a while.”
His shoulders are tense, and he actually flinches when Simon reaches out to touch his face.
“Mal,” Simon says gently, “oh Mal,” and pulls him in for a kiss.
“I love them,” he whispers when they part, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
Mal is quiet for a while, and then he laughs.
“Well, you better,” he says. “Seeing as how I already bought the land.”
***
Translation Chinese-English
yúchun - stupid
Gáisî! - Damnit!