Third Batch of Instead of Hugs Ficlets: Eliot/Parker/Hardison, River, Finn/Kurt, Eliot/Kurt
Title: Sometimes
Author: Merle
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Word Count: 570
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Leverage belongs to TNT
Warnings: threesome, future-fic, mention of character death (not E/P/H), schmoopy angst
Summary: A house on the beach, years from now
A/N: For chasingtides, whose prompt was: Leverage, Eliot/Parker/Hardison, living lives together.
Sometimes
Sometimes it’s just two of them, because Eliot and Parker still leave for indefinite periods of time, for weeks, or months, although never at the same time.
When Parker gets back from one of her trips, she is affectionate and horny, drags them into the bedroom and onto the mattress, rides Eliot's cock while pushing her tits into Hardison’s face.
When Eliot returns, he is bruised, sometimes limping, looking like he hasn't eaten in weeks, and he locks himself into his room and sleeps for a day before he’s ready to speak.
Hardison is always there, never really leaves, except for that one time when he was so tired of always waiting that he packed a bag and went into hiding for over a week. Parker hunted him down eventually, but Eliot didn’t speak with him for days before he cracked and fucked him against the wall of the second floor hallway, tears in his eyes.
They bought the house in Mexico a year to the day after Nate and Sophie's death.
Sometimes, Hardison helps Eliot with his garden, swearing and sweating and up to his elbows in fertile soil, and is surprised to realize that he doesn’t feel like mocking Eliot for being a woman at all.
Sometimes, Parker tries to play video games, and Hardison thinks that she could probably kick his ass if she wanted, but she tends to get distracted by butterflies outside the window or the smell of food wafting in from the kitchen where Eliot is making chili, so Hardison always wins.
Sometimes, during the hottest summer nights, they sleep on the back porch, side by side. Skin rubs against skin, their naked bodies slick with humidity, but they feel too heavy, too lazy to do anything, and they fall asleep to the sound of the waves rolling against the beach.
In their fourth year at the house, Parker gets pregnant.
Sometimes, they catch her touching her stomach gently, with awe, a curious expression on her face as if she’s trying to figure out if the child growing inside her is going to be dark-skinned or pink.
On days like that, Alec goes online to order baby clothes and toys, and Eliot retreats to the barn to work on the crib he’s started carving from wood, country rock blaring from the speakers until Hardison complains.
Sometimes they find her curled up in the hammock, face streaked with tears, flinching at the sound of their voices, turning away from their touch.
On those days, Hardison and Eliot fight. Once, Alec catches Eliot packing his duffel bag and calls him a coward. Once, Eliot catches Hardison looking at porn and calls him irresponsible, a big child. They yell at each other, they throw insults and plates, and sometimes punches, too.
But eventually, fighting will turn into fucking, rough and violent and desperate till they'll have used up their energy and anger and fall asleep, tangled up in each other and the sheets.
And when they wake up, they will find Parker occupying the space between them, curled up into Eliot’s chest, fingers clenched around Alec’s wrist, and one of them will rest a hand on the bare swell of her belly and feel for a sign of life.
They always knew what they were going to name the child - they are just waiting to find out if it’s a boy or a girl.
Title: Light-headed
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: River, Simon, Mal
Word Count: 470
Spoilers: for Serenity
Disclaimer: Firefly belongs to FOX and Joss Whedon
Warnings: slight angst
Summary: A month after Miranda - four weeks, three days, two hours and a half - River steals Simon’s scissors from the infirmary and cuts her hair.
A/N: For tanpopomofo, whose prompt was: Firefly, gen, scissors and hair.
Light-headed
A month after Miranda - four weeks, three days, two hours and a half - River steals Simon’s scissors from the infirmary and cuts her hair.
Simon catches her halfway through, finds her sitting in a nest of blue-black, shiny curls, and panics, as if she was cutting off her fingers instead.
“River, what are you doing?” he shouts, in dismay. “Tíngzhî!”
He approaches, as if to take the scissors from her, but he stops when she points them at him. He doesn’t think she’ll hurt him, but he isn’t sure - and the realization hurts her more than stabbing herself with those scissors ever could.
He’s right to be scared of her, she hurt him in the past, with words, with fists, with bored and childish cruelties. But not anymore. That person she became in the hands of the Alliance is gone, just like the child she was before: they have faded away and died, making room for a new River that is ready to raise like Phoenix from the ashes.
“No,” she says, shaking her head, and notices how it feels less heavy already, lighter without its burden.
“No,” she repeats, and wishes her voice didn't sound so angry.
“But River,” he pleads, wringing his hands. “Your hair!”
There are tears in his eyes, and she remembers now that he always loved her hair, loved combing and braiding it when they were little, even while her own mother shied away from the intimacy of the gesture.
She feels sorry for his loss.
“That’s not me anymore,” she says, raising the scissors to cut off the last remaining strand. She doesn’t have to look into a mirror to know that it looks good, but she goes to find one anyway.
Kaylee cries when she sees her. Jayne laughs.
“I like your new look,” Mal says when she meets him in the galley later, raised eyebrows the only indication of mild surprise.
“Simon doesn’t,” she says sadly. She knows that he knelt to collect the lost curls after she left, cradled them in his hands before putting them in a small box, to keep them safe.
Mal sighs. “Give your brother time,” he says. “He’ll get used to it.”
River nods. “He always does,” she says conspiratorially. “He’s met a new me before.”
"And he'll meet others," Mal says. It pleases her that he knows without asking that she isn't talking about the hair.
“This new me," he asks conversationally, like he doesn't really care either way.
"Does it come with a new name?”
“No,” she smiles at him. “Same name.”
She lifts the scissors to her head and points them against her own temple, carefully.
“Just a new head.”
Title: Bittersweet
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Finn/Kurt
Word Count: 675
Spoilers: tiny spoiler for Theatricality
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX and Ryan Murphy
Warnings: future-fic, slight angst, schmoop, clotted cream
Summary: Kurt lives in London. Finn comes to visit.
A/N: For hazyjayne, whose prompt was: Glee, Finn/Kurt, Afternoon Tea.
Bittersweet
"Damn, this is good," Finn groans, around a mouthful of what Kurt thinks must be his seventh scone. There's a smudge of clotted cream on his cheek, and Kurt has to force himself not to reach over with a napkin to dab at it.
He almost regrets taking Finn to the Savoy for Cream Tea. Almost. Because people are staring, and Kurt knows exactly what they are thinking: "Bloody American tourists."
He has had the stare directed at himself a couple of times, and he has never been more grateful for his fair skin and delicate features that let people believe he could actually be British. At least until he opens his mouth.
But there's a part of him that has missed Finn too much to miss out on an opportunity to watch him eat, messily and heartily, so he ignores the looks they are getting and stares himself.
"I thought English food was supposed to be awful," Finn says cheerfully, reaching for the last scone. Kurt notices that Finn has barely touched his tea, while he's been refilling his own cup over and over. His hands are already shaky from all the theine.
"I wouldn't really know," he says. Since he's moved to London, he has been splurging on sushi and kimchee, tapas and mezes, all that exciting food that is available in overabundance here and that people still frown upon back in Lima, Ohio.
It's mind-blowing, like a whole new world, and if one night he was so homesick that he went to the pub around the corner to watch a basketball game and stuff his face with a burger and fries (chips! the bartender said reproachfully)? Well - nobody needs to know.
"When are you going to come back?" Finn asks abruptly, and Kurt almost drops his tea cup.
"What?" he asks faintly, and Finn frowns.
"You know what I'm talking about," he says. "When are you going to come home?"
"Finn," he says weakly. "I - "
"I keep thinking," Finn continues, as if Kurt hadn't said anything. He is playing with the rest of his scone, crumbling it to dust between restless fingers. "Is this because of what you said at Thanksgiving? That you just knew I'd change my mind about us sooner or later? That I'd get tired of you eventually, go back to being straight?"
Kurt looks down at his plate, where drops of marmalade form a strange pattern of orange dots against the milky white of the cream. Distantly, he thinks about dragging a finger through the mess and licking it clean. He keeps silent.
"Because," Finn continues, seriously, "it's been seven months, and I still want to be with you. I miss you. Do you want me to move here? Is that it? Because I will, if you ask me to."
Kurt looks up, at that. "I thought you hated London," he says. "I thought you said this was one of the places where people eat vegetables that aren't fried."
Finn shrugs. "Well, they do drive on the wrong side of the street. And play weird sports." His grin is lopsided, a bit sad. "But they make decent pastries, at least."
Kurt stares at him in shock. "You are actually serious, aren't you?"
Finn pulls a face. "Do you really think I would be here if I wasn't? Do you think I would have waited that long?"
Kurt swallows. "I wasn't sure."
Finn opens his mouth, as if to say something, but in the end, he keeps silent.
The table between them is tiny, so it's easy for Finn to put his hands on the tablecloth and lean in, capture Kurt's mouth in a kiss. Finn's lips are slick with cream, and Kurt eats it up like a man starving. It's been too long.
When they pull back, Finn licks his lips.
"You taste like marmalade," he says, longing in his voice, and something else. "All bitter and sweet."
People are staring. Kurt finally smiles.
"Let's go home," he says. "The tea is cold now, anyway."
Title: Physical Education
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: pre-Eliot Spencer/Kurt Hummel (Leverage/Glee crossover)
Word Count: 730
Spoilers: tiny spoilers for the first season
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX, Leverage belongs to TNT
Warnings: Flirting between adult and minor
Summary: Kurt meets the new substitute PE teacher
A/N: For zortified, whose prompt was: Leverage/Glee, Kurt's reaction to encountering Eliot would oh so rock. and for casiedearestfic, whose prompt was: Glee/Leverage, Kurt/Eliot, Undercover as a teacher. I hope you guys don't mind sharing your ficlet, but those two prompts just had to be combined.
Physical Education
Kurt is just considering if it's safe enough to climb out of the dumpster without risking to get thrown back in when someone pokes his head inside and asks: "You okay, son?"
The guy is clearly too old to be a student, and quite handsome, in a rugged, uncouth kind of way. He looks a lot like the kind of guy that inhabits Kurt's dreams: dreams that usually end with Kurt being hoisted up against the stable door by a big guy in cowboy boots and a ripped wife-beater.
Actually, this guy is wearing a wife-beater, even if he's hiding it under an ugly blue lumberjack shirt. He is also holding out a strong, calloused hand, that Kurt takes after a moment of consideration, allowing the guy to lift him out of the dumpster.
It's a bit embarrassing, just how easily he is able to manhandle him, and maybe also a bit hot. Kurt covers his blush by busying himself with his clothes, trying to make himself representable once again, while the stranger watches with bemusement.
"What's your name, son?" the guy finally asks, voice hoarse and rough, like someone took sandpaper to his vocal cords.
"Kurt Hummel, Sir," he replies. The "Sir" comes out unbidden, and as somewhat of a surprise. "And may I ask who you are? Sir?"
The guy smirks. "I'm the substitute PE teacher. Covering for Coach Tanaka?"
"Oh," Kurt makes faintly. He isn't sure if the prospect is exciting or rather terrifying.
The man's grin fades. "Care to tell me who threw you in that dumpster?"
Kurt blinks. This is the first teacher ever who actually asks this question, and he hasn't even started teaching yet. Also, he suddenly looks strangely dangerous, and Kurt is glad that the anger doesn't seem to be directed at himself.
"Uhm, why do you want to know?" he asks carefully, and the guy pulls a face.
"So that I can go and beat them up."
Kurt stares, flabbergasted. At least he remembers to shut his mouth, because he's seen Finn do it often enough to know that open-mouthed staring is not exactly attractive.
"Shouldn't you just, you know, give them detention?" he asks, and the guy actually laughs.
"Probably," he shrugs. "But that's not as much fun."
Kurt is starting to think that this substitute teacher, hot or not, might be just a tad insane. Of course, that only means he's probably going to fit right in with the other teachers at McKinley. And it's certainly not an excuse for Kurt to lose his composure.
"Well," he says, as dignified as he can manage. "I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary. When Miss Sylvester is through with them, they'll wish they never laid hands on me."
"Miss Sylvester, huh?" the guy drawls, and there's a sudden spark of something in his eyes at the mention of her name. "Have heard a lot about her. Do you know her well?"
"She is the coach of the cheerleading squad," Kurt says, and even talking about her makes him want to stand at attention. He lifts his chin. "And I'm her head cheerleader."
"Head cheerleader?" The guy's smirk is pleased, and downright dirty. "What a coincidence. Because I love cheerleaders. And I love …" He stops himself abruptly, coughing, and Kurt flushes furiously at the innuendo.
"Who are you?" he asks. Under the circumstances, the question seems absolutely justified.
But the man just smiles lazily and winks.
"Today," he says easily, "today I'm just your PE teacher. But be patient and play along, and you might just find out what else I can be."
Later, Kurt is sure that he imagined the brush of fingers against his cheek.
He's also sure that he imagined the guy talking furiously to himself while he walked away, a hand raised to his ear.
In a surveillance van, behind the football field of McKinley High, Hardison smacks his forehead against the dashboard in exasperation.
"Eliot, you are supposed to check out our mark," he groans. "Not to seduce jailbait!"
Eliot's chuckle comes through the speakers, only slightly distorted. "Who says I can't do both?"
Hardison throws up his hands and goes back to hitting his head against the dashboard.
Next to him, Parker grins. "The boy was cute, though," she says, and keeps eating Cheerios out of the box.
Author: Merle
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Word Count: 570
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Leverage belongs to TNT
Warnings: threesome, future-fic, mention of character death (not E/P/H), schmoopy angst
Summary: A house on the beach, years from now
A/N: For chasingtides, whose prompt was: Leverage, Eliot/Parker/Hardison, living lives together.
Sometimes
Sometimes it’s just two of them, because Eliot and Parker still leave for indefinite periods of time, for weeks, or months, although never at the same time.
When Parker gets back from one of her trips, she is affectionate and horny, drags them into the bedroom and onto the mattress, rides Eliot's cock while pushing her tits into Hardison’s face.
When Eliot returns, he is bruised, sometimes limping, looking like he hasn't eaten in weeks, and he locks himself into his room and sleeps for a day before he’s ready to speak.
Hardison is always there, never really leaves, except for that one time when he was so tired of always waiting that he packed a bag and went into hiding for over a week. Parker hunted him down eventually, but Eliot didn’t speak with him for days before he cracked and fucked him against the wall of the second floor hallway, tears in his eyes.
They bought the house in Mexico a year to the day after Nate and Sophie's death.
Sometimes, Hardison helps Eliot with his garden, swearing and sweating and up to his elbows in fertile soil, and is surprised to realize that he doesn’t feel like mocking Eliot for being a woman at all.
Sometimes, Parker tries to play video games, and Hardison thinks that she could probably kick his ass if she wanted, but she tends to get distracted by butterflies outside the window or the smell of food wafting in from the kitchen where Eliot is making chili, so Hardison always wins.
Sometimes, during the hottest summer nights, they sleep on the back porch, side by side. Skin rubs against skin, their naked bodies slick with humidity, but they feel too heavy, too lazy to do anything, and they fall asleep to the sound of the waves rolling against the beach.
In their fourth year at the house, Parker gets pregnant.
Sometimes, they catch her touching her stomach gently, with awe, a curious expression on her face as if she’s trying to figure out if the child growing inside her is going to be dark-skinned or pink.
On days like that, Alec goes online to order baby clothes and toys, and Eliot retreats to the barn to work on the crib he’s started carving from wood, country rock blaring from the speakers until Hardison complains.
Sometimes they find her curled up in the hammock, face streaked with tears, flinching at the sound of their voices, turning away from their touch.
On those days, Hardison and Eliot fight. Once, Alec catches Eliot packing his duffel bag and calls him a coward. Once, Eliot catches Hardison looking at porn and calls him irresponsible, a big child. They yell at each other, they throw insults and plates, and sometimes punches, too.
But eventually, fighting will turn into fucking, rough and violent and desperate till they'll have used up their energy and anger and fall asleep, tangled up in each other and the sheets.
And when they wake up, they will find Parker occupying the space between them, curled up into Eliot’s chest, fingers clenched around Alec’s wrist, and one of them will rest a hand on the bare swell of her belly and feel for a sign of life.
They always knew what they were going to name the child - they are just waiting to find out if it’s a boy or a girl.
Title: Light-headed
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: River, Simon, Mal
Word Count: 470
Spoilers: for Serenity
Disclaimer: Firefly belongs to FOX and Joss Whedon
Warnings: slight angst
Summary: A month after Miranda - four weeks, three days, two hours and a half - River steals Simon’s scissors from the infirmary and cuts her hair.
A/N: For tanpopomofo, whose prompt was: Firefly, gen, scissors and hair.
Light-headed
A month after Miranda - four weeks, three days, two hours and a half - River steals Simon’s scissors from the infirmary and cuts her hair.
Simon catches her halfway through, finds her sitting in a nest of blue-black, shiny curls, and panics, as if she was cutting off her fingers instead.
“River, what are you doing?” he shouts, in dismay. “Tíngzhî!”
He approaches, as if to take the scissors from her, but he stops when she points them at him. He doesn’t think she’ll hurt him, but he isn’t sure - and the realization hurts her more than stabbing herself with those scissors ever could.
He’s right to be scared of her, she hurt him in the past, with words, with fists, with bored and childish cruelties. But not anymore. That person she became in the hands of the Alliance is gone, just like the child she was before: they have faded away and died, making room for a new River that is ready to raise like Phoenix from the ashes.
“No,” she says, shaking her head, and notices how it feels less heavy already, lighter without its burden.
“No,” she repeats, and wishes her voice didn't sound so angry.
“But River,” he pleads, wringing his hands. “Your hair!”
There are tears in his eyes, and she remembers now that he always loved her hair, loved combing and braiding it when they were little, even while her own mother shied away from the intimacy of the gesture.
She feels sorry for his loss.
“That’s not me anymore,” she says, raising the scissors to cut off the last remaining strand. She doesn’t have to look into a mirror to know that it looks good, but she goes to find one anyway.
Kaylee cries when she sees her. Jayne laughs.
“I like your new look,” Mal says when she meets him in the galley later, raised eyebrows the only indication of mild surprise.
“Simon doesn’t,” she says sadly. She knows that he knelt to collect the lost curls after she left, cradled them in his hands before putting them in a small box, to keep them safe.
Mal sighs. “Give your brother time,” he says. “He’ll get used to it.”
River nods. “He always does,” she says conspiratorially. “He’s met a new me before.”
"And he'll meet others," Mal says. It pleases her that he knows without asking that she isn't talking about the hair.
“This new me," he asks conversationally, like he doesn't really care either way.
"Does it come with a new name?”
“No,” she smiles at him. “Same name.”
She lifts the scissors to her head and points them against her own temple, carefully.
“Just a new head.”
Title: Bittersweet
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Finn/Kurt
Word Count: 675
Spoilers: tiny spoiler for Theatricality
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX and Ryan Murphy
Warnings: future-fic, slight angst, schmoop, clotted cream
Summary: Kurt lives in London. Finn comes to visit.
A/N: For hazyjayne, whose prompt was: Glee, Finn/Kurt, Afternoon Tea.
Bittersweet
"Damn, this is good," Finn groans, around a mouthful of what Kurt thinks must be his seventh scone. There's a smudge of clotted cream on his cheek, and Kurt has to force himself not to reach over with a napkin to dab at it.
He almost regrets taking Finn to the Savoy for Cream Tea. Almost. Because people are staring, and Kurt knows exactly what they are thinking: "Bloody American tourists."
He has had the stare directed at himself a couple of times, and he has never been more grateful for his fair skin and delicate features that let people believe he could actually be British. At least until he opens his mouth.
But there's a part of him that has missed Finn too much to miss out on an opportunity to watch him eat, messily and heartily, so he ignores the looks they are getting and stares himself.
"I thought English food was supposed to be awful," Finn says cheerfully, reaching for the last scone. Kurt notices that Finn has barely touched his tea, while he's been refilling his own cup over and over. His hands are already shaky from all the theine.
"I wouldn't really know," he says. Since he's moved to London, he has been splurging on sushi and kimchee, tapas and mezes, all that exciting food that is available in overabundance here and that people still frown upon back in Lima, Ohio.
It's mind-blowing, like a whole new world, and if one night he was so homesick that he went to the pub around the corner to watch a basketball game and stuff his face with a burger and fries (chips! the bartender said reproachfully)? Well - nobody needs to know.
"When are you going to come back?" Finn asks abruptly, and Kurt almost drops his tea cup.
"What?" he asks faintly, and Finn frowns.
"You know what I'm talking about," he says. "When are you going to come home?"
"Finn," he says weakly. "I - "
"I keep thinking," Finn continues, as if Kurt hadn't said anything. He is playing with the rest of his scone, crumbling it to dust between restless fingers. "Is this because of what you said at Thanksgiving? That you just knew I'd change my mind about us sooner or later? That I'd get tired of you eventually, go back to being straight?"
Kurt looks down at his plate, where drops of marmalade form a strange pattern of orange dots against the milky white of the cream. Distantly, he thinks about dragging a finger through the mess and licking it clean. He keeps silent.
"Because," Finn continues, seriously, "it's been seven months, and I still want to be with you. I miss you. Do you want me to move here? Is that it? Because I will, if you ask me to."
Kurt looks up, at that. "I thought you hated London," he says. "I thought you said this was one of the places where people eat vegetables that aren't fried."
Finn shrugs. "Well, they do drive on the wrong side of the street. And play weird sports." His grin is lopsided, a bit sad. "But they make decent pastries, at least."
Kurt stares at him in shock. "You are actually serious, aren't you?"
Finn pulls a face. "Do you really think I would be here if I wasn't? Do you think I would have waited that long?"
Kurt swallows. "I wasn't sure."
Finn opens his mouth, as if to say something, but in the end, he keeps silent.
The table between them is tiny, so it's easy for Finn to put his hands on the tablecloth and lean in, capture Kurt's mouth in a kiss. Finn's lips are slick with cream, and Kurt eats it up like a man starving. It's been too long.
When they pull back, Finn licks his lips.
"You taste like marmalade," he says, longing in his voice, and something else. "All bitter and sweet."
People are staring. Kurt finally smiles.
"Let's go home," he says. "The tea is cold now, anyway."
Title: Physical Education
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: pre-Eliot Spencer/Kurt Hummel (Leverage/Glee crossover)
Word Count: 730
Spoilers: tiny spoilers for the first season
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX, Leverage belongs to TNT
Warnings: Flirting between adult and minor
Summary: Kurt meets the new substitute PE teacher
A/N: For zortified, whose prompt was: Leverage/Glee, Kurt's reaction to encountering Eliot would oh so rock. and for casiedearestfic, whose prompt was: Glee/Leverage, Kurt/Eliot, Undercover as a teacher. I hope you guys don't mind sharing your ficlet, but those two prompts just had to be combined.
Physical Education
Kurt is just considering if it's safe enough to climb out of the dumpster without risking to get thrown back in when someone pokes his head inside and asks: "You okay, son?"
The guy is clearly too old to be a student, and quite handsome, in a rugged, uncouth kind of way. He looks a lot like the kind of guy that inhabits Kurt's dreams: dreams that usually end with Kurt being hoisted up against the stable door by a big guy in cowboy boots and a ripped wife-beater.
Actually, this guy is wearing a wife-beater, even if he's hiding it under an ugly blue lumberjack shirt. He is also holding out a strong, calloused hand, that Kurt takes after a moment of consideration, allowing the guy to lift him out of the dumpster.
It's a bit embarrassing, just how easily he is able to manhandle him, and maybe also a bit hot. Kurt covers his blush by busying himself with his clothes, trying to make himself representable once again, while the stranger watches with bemusement.
"What's your name, son?" the guy finally asks, voice hoarse and rough, like someone took sandpaper to his vocal cords.
"Kurt Hummel, Sir," he replies. The "Sir" comes out unbidden, and as somewhat of a surprise. "And may I ask who you are? Sir?"
The guy smirks. "I'm the substitute PE teacher. Covering for Coach Tanaka?"
"Oh," Kurt makes faintly. He isn't sure if the prospect is exciting or rather terrifying.
The man's grin fades. "Care to tell me who threw you in that dumpster?"
Kurt blinks. This is the first teacher ever who actually asks this question, and he hasn't even started teaching yet. Also, he suddenly looks strangely dangerous, and Kurt is glad that the anger doesn't seem to be directed at himself.
"Uhm, why do you want to know?" he asks carefully, and the guy pulls a face.
"So that I can go and beat them up."
Kurt stares, flabbergasted. At least he remembers to shut his mouth, because he's seen Finn do it often enough to know that open-mouthed staring is not exactly attractive.
"Shouldn't you just, you know, give them detention?" he asks, and the guy actually laughs.
"Probably," he shrugs. "But that's not as much fun."
Kurt is starting to think that this substitute teacher, hot or not, might be just a tad insane. Of course, that only means he's probably going to fit right in with the other teachers at McKinley. And it's certainly not an excuse for Kurt to lose his composure.
"Well," he says, as dignified as he can manage. "I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary. When Miss Sylvester is through with them, they'll wish they never laid hands on me."
"Miss Sylvester, huh?" the guy drawls, and there's a sudden spark of something in his eyes at the mention of her name. "Have heard a lot about her. Do you know her well?"
"She is the coach of the cheerleading squad," Kurt says, and even talking about her makes him want to stand at attention. He lifts his chin. "And I'm her head cheerleader."
"Head cheerleader?" The guy's smirk is pleased, and downright dirty. "What a coincidence. Because I love cheerleaders. And I love …" He stops himself abruptly, coughing, and Kurt flushes furiously at the innuendo.
"Who are you?" he asks. Under the circumstances, the question seems absolutely justified.
But the man just smiles lazily and winks.
"Today," he says easily, "today I'm just your PE teacher. But be patient and play along, and you might just find out what else I can be."
Later, Kurt is sure that he imagined the brush of fingers against his cheek.
He's also sure that he imagined the guy talking furiously to himself while he walked away, a hand raised to his ear.
In a surveillance van, behind the football field of McKinley High, Hardison smacks his forehead against the dashboard in exasperation.
"Eliot, you are supposed to check out our mark," he groans. "Not to seduce jailbait!"
Eliot's chuckle comes through the speakers, only slightly distorted. "Who says I can't do both?"
Hardison throws up his hands and goes back to hitting his head against the dashboard.
Next to him, Parker grins. "The boy was cute, though," she says, and keeps eating Cheerios out of the box.