Glee!fic, Unscripted: The Mariner's Revenge
The Mariner's Revenge (NOT EVEN SORRY) from the Unscriptedverse. Fluff-short because I need this kind of crap right now. I know I haven't replied to comments yet, sorry, I sort of freeze up when I start trying. Sorry. Soon <3
Disclaimer: Not mine, it's just that my imagination can only be restrained by the sort of methods that would kick said imagination into filthy overdrive.
Rating: Um, R.
Summary: In which Time Out ruins Blaine's life.
Note: Writing makes me feel mostly okay. So.
It's the photograph that's the actual problem. The incident was pretty much just every Pride, they're always crazy, chaos careening on joy, flags and rainbows and laughter and music and occasionally one of them does have to reel his husband back from whichever other man has cheerfully, enthusiastically, not spotted the wedding ring.
(And, now and then, retrieve his husband from whichever man has seen the wedding ring and hopes, one way or another, to work around it.)
It's only a minor incident. He's more of a gentleman than the drunk guy in the glittery cowboy hat Kurt pretty much had to manhandle off Blaine the previous year, Blaine mostly amused at Kurt's indignation, not even at his husband being hit on by a horny cowboy but just the man's drunken unco-operativeness, hiking Blaine nearly off his feet and too far gone to think how to unlock his hands even with Kurt cursing furiously at his face and yanking at his wrists. He's a gentleman, it's an honest mistake; Blaine's crouched to tie a shoelace at the edge of the sidewalk and Kurt's standing not too far away, bottle of water in one hand and shading his eyes to look up at a flight of bubbles just blown past by a girl with rainbows painted on each cheek, bubbles glossy with colour against the bright blue sky -
When there's an arm around his side and he's too surprised to do anything at all - too surprised even to close his mouth - when a man leans him back in his arm like they're dancing and beams down at his face. He's wearing a navy uniform and a really delighted grin, holding his cap on his head with one hand with Kurt staring up at him from his arm and he says so happily, "When I'm out defending the citizens of this glorious country, I swear to god I always hoped I'd be defending one just like you."
Kurt stares at him and says, "- ah?"
And then behind his shoulder Blaine clears his throat and says, "Excuse me, could I have my husband back?"
The sailor looks over his shoulder and then rolls his eyes to the sky, a little of course directed at the whole universe, takes Kurt's hand and settles him back on his feet like a gentleman. "My apologies, sir." He kisses Kurt's hand - it's the sort of gesture that Kurt really has no defence against, he blushes to his hair and clutches at his water bottle for modesty - then turns and offers Blaine a hand to shake. "My sincerest, most envious congratulations."
"Um, thank you."
The guy cocks Kurt an eyebrow, says, "You wouldn't be looking to upgrade to a serviceman."
Kurt half-hides his smile behind the water bottle. "He's a doctor."
He takes that like a gentleman too, says, "I can honourably concede defeat," and salutes Blaine's bemusement, gives Kurt one last wistful look and his own poker-straight salute, then heads off down the sidewalk, where another sailor pats his shoulder and shakes his head, grinning.
Blaine takes Kurt's hand. Kurt bites his lip, tilts the water bottle about a little. Blaine says, "You are thinking about 'upgrading'?"
"I would be doing my bit for America," Kurt says, then can't keep the laughter in. "No, sorry, Blaine, I was - you'd look cute in one of those uniforms."
"I - really?"
Kurt plays with Blaine's collar a little, eyes low, then flicks them to Blaine's still-surprised gaze and says, "Do you want to get pretzels?" and that's all they really consider the incident, at the time.
It's only later that there's the photo.
*
By the time Kurt gets back from rehearsal Blaine's been left alone with The Photo since lunchtime. He picked up a copy of Time Out on a run, and after showering and making a sandwich he sat down next to the birdcage to read it, looking for something interesting his and Kurt's crazy schedules might actually meet for this week.
No-one expects on page twenty to come upon a large colour photograph of their husband dipped back in the arm of a beaming sailor. Blaine coughs mayonnaise onto the page of LGBTQ events next to it, cannot compute, stares at the caption but takes a few seconds to re-engage the parts of his brain that actually handle language to be able to read it. The caption is under the impression that Kurt is the navy guy's partner. Blaine yelps at it, "That's bullcrap, you didn't even stop us to ask-"
One of the finches trills a warning at him, a no shouting in the house warning. Blaine waves his sandwich at it. "Have you read this crap? This is - what the hell happened to journalism? That's - that's slander!"
He is slightly aware that he might be getting overexcited. He fumes over the photograph, Kurt's surprised eyes focused on the guy's face, how really fucking joyful the guy looks, like he's got the thing that delights him the most in the world in his arm. Blaine squints over every corner of the photograph, sees his own foot at the very edge of the frame. Awesome.
He looks up the difference between slander and libel on the internet.
He tells himself that he doesn't care, picks up his guitar and then puts it down again and grabs the magazine up to glare at instead. The way Kurt's fingers are curled around the neck of the water bottle dangling from his hand, his opening mouth, he looks so surprised, can't they tell they literally just met for the first and only time in their lives -?
He goes on the Time Out website to complain. The photograph is on their goddamn Facebook page.
Blaine's brain says, Wait oh god.
The photograph is on Kurt's Facebook group, which Kurt can't shut down because Sean controls the password. Holy hell the internet moves fast.
He can't bring himself to read the comments.
He reads the comments.
He walks three times around their apartment fighting the urge to kick things.
Kurt texts him, Do you want me to pick anything up on the way home?
Blaine texts back, I don't know, how about a random sailor?
Kurt texts back, ?
*
Kurt unlocks the door and sighs, sings, "I'm home!" as he drops his keys into the glass bowl by the door. "Hi guys," he croons to the finches, smiling, and only then looks at Blaine sitting with his arms folded on the sofa. "What's up with you?"
"I don't know! Maybe your new husband can explain it to you!"
Kurt says, "What?"
Blaine picks up the magazine and shakes it at him. He means to say something but actually all that comes out is an explosion of sound, like his voice box just can't even cope with it anymore. Kurt frowns and walks over, and Blaine sees the second when he recognises himself and his mouth drops open, and he takes it from Blaine's hand. "What - oh my god. God, I didn't even see a photographer there."
"No!" Even to his own ears he sounds hysterical. "Neither did I!"
Kurt stares at the photo and absently reaches down to rub Blaine's shoulder, but Blaine squirms away. Kurt glances at him, then back at the photograph. "I'm sort of offended that they don't know it's me. They did a whole piece on the Blue Elephant Players two months ago."
"Well, your Facebook group noticed!"
"Oh god, Blaine."
"So they all want to know what happened to me and whether I even know about your 'hot sailor guy' yet-"
"Oh god, Blaine -"
"- who they're already just calling 'HSG' in arguments about his and my relative merits-"
"Bla-"
"I'm not joining the navy!"
"Wh- no-one is asking you to join the navy!"
"Time Out is!"
"Oh my god I need a cup of coffee," Kurt says, and drops the magazine onto the sofa, walks in a dazed way for the kitchen cubby. "You are being insane. Would you like some coffee?"
"I don't know, are you making one for hot sailor guy too?"
"You are being insane! It was four weeks ago and I am not responsible for the deplorable standard of photojournalism in Time Out! God, I'm getting a headache. Did you feed the birds yet?"
Blaine folds his arms again, mutters at the coffee table, "Why don't you ask hot sailor guy to do it for you?"
Kurt slams a mug down on the counter and snaps, "All that hair gel rotted your brain, you know that this is ridiculous -"
He sort of does, which is part of the reason he's so angry about it. "I'm glad that I'm ridiculous to you! I love being ridiculous to my husband! If we even are still married after your whirlwind romance with -"
Kurt stabs the mug at him by the handle. "You are upsetting the birds."
Blaine's on his feet, straining agonised before he explodes with, "They're birds! They're not our kids, they don't worry about daddy and papa splitting up and who they'd live with-"
"That's because they would obviously come with me." Kurt says flatly. "You are clearly not responsible enough to care for birds."
Blaine digs his hands over his eyes to have a little scream, then stamps through into the bedroom. He throws himself face-down onto the bed and rolls onto his side, keeping his hands over his eyes, fumbling through all the exasperated, unspent rage, he doesn't even know why he's so angry -
Kurt doesn't follow him through. He keeps waiting for him to do it, his breath can't settle when he's always waiting for Kurt to follow him. He lays there breathing too tight for what feels like minutes before he sags, slumping onto the mattress, cheek propped on one folded arm; isn't Kurt going to follow him . . . ?
Kurt says from the doorframe, "Have you calmed down a bit?"
They know each other far too well. He says into his arm, "Yes."
Kurt walks over, and the mattress dips at Blaine's back as he sits. "So," he says, rubbing Blaine's shoulder, hand travelling up to stroke through his hair. "Do you want to tell me what all this is about . . . ?"
Blaine stares at the narrow strip of wall next to the window, and the blinds ripple a little in the breeze. He says, "I think you left me alone with the photograph for too long."
"Sweetheart, I only just found out that it even exists."
"I know." Blaine rolls onto his back, looks up at Kurt's patient eyes. "I think sort of crazy things without you around to, you know, regulate me."
"I can't say I didn't know what I was getting into," Kurt says slowly, "since I'd endured your friendship even before I began putting up with you as a boyfriend, let alone a husband. Blaine - Blaine, he was some random guy at Pride, a guy in a feather boa grabbed your ass five minutes afterwards, you know neither of us choose these things. And after he grabbed me seriously the first thing I thought - once I was capable of thinking again - was that you would look so much better in that uniform."
Blaine watches his eyes, that little glitter of his Kurt-humour, quick-sharp and warm. "Yeah?"
Kurt runs his hand down his arm, eyes on his fingers passing over Blaine's bicep. "You look good in everything, I honestly can't believe I don't tell you that enough. And anyway, what does he matter? Say this guy -"
"Hot sailor guy."
Kurt rolls his eyes. "- him, say he comes back and carries me away to sea with him." Kurt's thumb runs softly-softly over the skin just below Blaine's inner elbow. It really should not have quite the force of arousal that it does. "Well, I know the Dread Pirate Blaine would set sail right after him to rescue me. He'd board the ship and fight his way to me -" Kurt runs his hand down Blaine's arm, lifts his hand by the wrist and kisses his open palm. "- and then carry me back to his ship to lock me in his cabin and ravish me as all good pirates should."
Kurt's kept Blaine's hand near his mouth; Blaine can feel the gentle pass of his breath on his skin. "Pirates?" he says, raising an eyebrow, because okay Kurt likes staring at Johnny Depp but hell, they both do.
"Something in red," Kurt murmurs, because of course Kurt is already mentally dressing Blaine, which he seems to find much more erotic than mentally undressing him. "With a really fabulous hat. And those boots."
"You like the boots," Blaine murmurs, of course, as Kurt presses his lips to his fingers - not quite a kiss - and drags them up to touch the edge of his tongue off his fingertips. Blaine feels himself twitch in his boxers, and swallows.
"Leather pants. Eyeliner." His smile twitches. "Maybe a little unshaven . . . and you would throw me down on your bed and just," his tongue flicks at Blaine's fingers again and this time the twitch is visible through his pants, "have your piratical way with me. With hopefully as few puns as possible because I do know what you're like."
Blaine watches Kurt's tongue curl around two fingers and slip them into his mouth. He says, his voice coming out lower now, "It's Hallowe'en in three months."
"Mm," Kurt says around his fingers, drawing them in and out of his mouth, hot and wet and those are not two words Blaine can casually think with Kurt in this sort of proximity. Blaine swallows again, then sits up and retrieves his hand, rolling Kurt onto his uncomplaining back by his shoulder.
"I'm going to ravish you now," he says, running his hand down Kurt's side to squeeze his ass. Kurt jolts a little and grabs his arms, says, "No puns."
"Can I talk like a pirate?"
"No."
"Not even a little bit?"
"No. I want to be ravished by an extremely articulate pirate. If he would like to comment on how pretty my eyes are then that would be perfectly appropriate."
"You know, it's quite hard to ravish someone who keeps giving you instructions."
Kurt rolls his eyes, stretches his arms up and lays them behind his head, on the pillow. "If you were an actual pirate you would just have -"
"- boarded you already?"
"Oh god."
Blaine starts unbuttoning his shirt, lowering his mouth to say to his breastbone, "If I get carried away and mention my cutlass you will still have sex with me, right?"
"This better be a damn good ravishing," Kurt mutters at the ceiling.
One of the birds sings, through in the living room. The blinds give a quick rolling rattle in the breeze. And Kurt says, "Was that a grunt or did you just say 'arr'?" and Blaine starts laughing into his stomach.
Disclaimer: Not mine, it's just that my imagination can only be restrained by the sort of methods that would kick said imagination into filthy overdrive.
Rating: Um, R.
Summary: In which Time Out ruins Blaine's life.
Note: Writing makes me feel mostly okay. So.
It's the photograph that's the actual problem. The incident was pretty much just every Pride, they're always crazy, chaos careening on joy, flags and rainbows and laughter and music and occasionally one of them does have to reel his husband back from whichever other man has cheerfully, enthusiastically, not spotted the wedding ring.
(And, now and then, retrieve his husband from whichever man has seen the wedding ring and hopes, one way or another, to work around it.)
It's only a minor incident. He's more of a gentleman than the drunk guy in the glittery cowboy hat Kurt pretty much had to manhandle off Blaine the previous year, Blaine mostly amused at Kurt's indignation, not even at his husband being hit on by a horny cowboy but just the man's drunken unco-operativeness, hiking Blaine nearly off his feet and too far gone to think how to unlock his hands even with Kurt cursing furiously at his face and yanking at his wrists. He's a gentleman, it's an honest mistake; Blaine's crouched to tie a shoelace at the edge of the sidewalk and Kurt's standing not too far away, bottle of water in one hand and shading his eyes to look up at a flight of bubbles just blown past by a girl with rainbows painted on each cheek, bubbles glossy with colour against the bright blue sky -
When there's an arm around his side and he's too surprised to do anything at all - too surprised even to close his mouth - when a man leans him back in his arm like they're dancing and beams down at his face. He's wearing a navy uniform and a really delighted grin, holding his cap on his head with one hand with Kurt staring up at him from his arm and he says so happily, "When I'm out defending the citizens of this glorious country, I swear to god I always hoped I'd be defending one just like you."
Kurt stares at him and says, "- ah?"
And then behind his shoulder Blaine clears his throat and says, "Excuse me, could I have my husband back?"
The sailor looks over his shoulder and then rolls his eyes to the sky, a little of course directed at the whole universe, takes Kurt's hand and settles him back on his feet like a gentleman. "My apologies, sir." He kisses Kurt's hand - it's the sort of gesture that Kurt really has no defence against, he blushes to his hair and clutches at his water bottle for modesty - then turns and offers Blaine a hand to shake. "My sincerest, most envious congratulations."
"Um, thank you."
The guy cocks Kurt an eyebrow, says, "You wouldn't be looking to upgrade to a serviceman."
Kurt half-hides his smile behind the water bottle. "He's a doctor."
He takes that like a gentleman too, says, "I can honourably concede defeat," and salutes Blaine's bemusement, gives Kurt one last wistful look and his own poker-straight salute, then heads off down the sidewalk, where another sailor pats his shoulder and shakes his head, grinning.
Blaine takes Kurt's hand. Kurt bites his lip, tilts the water bottle about a little. Blaine says, "You are thinking about 'upgrading'?"
"I would be doing my bit for America," Kurt says, then can't keep the laughter in. "No, sorry, Blaine, I was - you'd look cute in one of those uniforms."
"I - really?"
Kurt plays with Blaine's collar a little, eyes low, then flicks them to Blaine's still-surprised gaze and says, "Do you want to get pretzels?" and that's all they really consider the incident, at the time.
It's only later that there's the photo.
*
By the time Kurt gets back from rehearsal Blaine's been left alone with The Photo since lunchtime. He picked up a copy of Time Out on a run, and after showering and making a sandwich he sat down next to the birdcage to read it, looking for something interesting his and Kurt's crazy schedules might actually meet for this week.
No-one expects on page twenty to come upon a large colour photograph of their husband dipped back in the arm of a beaming sailor. Blaine coughs mayonnaise onto the page of LGBTQ events next to it, cannot compute, stares at the caption but takes a few seconds to re-engage the parts of his brain that actually handle language to be able to read it. The caption is under the impression that Kurt is the navy guy's partner. Blaine yelps at it, "That's bullcrap, you didn't even stop us to ask-"
One of the finches trills a warning at him, a no shouting in the house warning. Blaine waves his sandwich at it. "Have you read this crap? This is - what the hell happened to journalism? That's - that's slander!"
He is slightly aware that he might be getting overexcited. He fumes over the photograph, Kurt's surprised eyes focused on the guy's face, how really fucking joyful the guy looks, like he's got the thing that delights him the most in the world in his arm. Blaine squints over every corner of the photograph, sees his own foot at the very edge of the frame. Awesome.
He looks up the difference between slander and libel on the internet.
He tells himself that he doesn't care, picks up his guitar and then puts it down again and grabs the magazine up to glare at instead. The way Kurt's fingers are curled around the neck of the water bottle dangling from his hand, his opening mouth, he looks so surprised, can't they tell they literally just met for the first and only time in their lives -?
He goes on the Time Out website to complain. The photograph is on their goddamn Facebook page.
Blaine's brain says, Wait oh god.
The photograph is on Kurt's Facebook group, which Kurt can't shut down because Sean controls the password. Holy hell the internet moves fast.
He can't bring himself to read the comments.
He reads the comments.
He walks three times around their apartment fighting the urge to kick things.
Kurt texts him, Do you want me to pick anything up on the way home?
Blaine texts back, I don't know, how about a random sailor?
Kurt texts back, ?
*
Kurt unlocks the door and sighs, sings, "I'm home!" as he drops his keys into the glass bowl by the door. "Hi guys," he croons to the finches, smiling, and only then looks at Blaine sitting with his arms folded on the sofa. "What's up with you?"
"I don't know! Maybe your new husband can explain it to you!"
Kurt says, "What?"
Blaine picks up the magazine and shakes it at him. He means to say something but actually all that comes out is an explosion of sound, like his voice box just can't even cope with it anymore. Kurt frowns and walks over, and Blaine sees the second when he recognises himself and his mouth drops open, and he takes it from Blaine's hand. "What - oh my god. God, I didn't even see a photographer there."
"No!" Even to his own ears he sounds hysterical. "Neither did I!"
Kurt stares at the photo and absently reaches down to rub Blaine's shoulder, but Blaine squirms away. Kurt glances at him, then back at the photograph. "I'm sort of offended that they don't know it's me. They did a whole piece on the Blue Elephant Players two months ago."
"Well, your Facebook group noticed!"
"Oh god, Blaine."
"So they all want to know what happened to me and whether I even know about your 'hot sailor guy' yet-"
"Oh god, Blaine -"
"- who they're already just calling 'HSG' in arguments about his and my relative merits-"
"Bla-"
"I'm not joining the navy!"
"Wh- no-one is asking you to join the navy!"
"Time Out is!"
"Oh my god I need a cup of coffee," Kurt says, and drops the magazine onto the sofa, walks in a dazed way for the kitchen cubby. "You are being insane. Would you like some coffee?"
"I don't know, are you making one for hot sailor guy too?"
"You are being insane! It was four weeks ago and I am not responsible for the deplorable standard of photojournalism in Time Out! God, I'm getting a headache. Did you feed the birds yet?"
Blaine folds his arms again, mutters at the coffee table, "Why don't you ask hot sailor guy to do it for you?"
Kurt slams a mug down on the counter and snaps, "All that hair gel rotted your brain, you know that this is ridiculous -"
He sort of does, which is part of the reason he's so angry about it. "I'm glad that I'm ridiculous to you! I love being ridiculous to my husband! If we even are still married after your whirlwind romance with -"
Kurt stabs the mug at him by the handle. "You are upsetting the birds."
Blaine's on his feet, straining agonised before he explodes with, "They're birds! They're not our kids, they don't worry about daddy and papa splitting up and who they'd live with-"
"That's because they would obviously come with me." Kurt says flatly. "You are clearly not responsible enough to care for birds."
Blaine digs his hands over his eyes to have a little scream, then stamps through into the bedroom. He throws himself face-down onto the bed and rolls onto his side, keeping his hands over his eyes, fumbling through all the exasperated, unspent rage, he doesn't even know why he's so angry -
Kurt doesn't follow him through. He keeps waiting for him to do it, his breath can't settle when he's always waiting for Kurt to follow him. He lays there breathing too tight for what feels like minutes before he sags, slumping onto the mattress, cheek propped on one folded arm; isn't Kurt going to follow him . . . ?
Kurt says from the doorframe, "Have you calmed down a bit?"
They know each other far too well. He says into his arm, "Yes."
Kurt walks over, and the mattress dips at Blaine's back as he sits. "So," he says, rubbing Blaine's shoulder, hand travelling up to stroke through his hair. "Do you want to tell me what all this is about . . . ?"
Blaine stares at the narrow strip of wall next to the window, and the blinds ripple a little in the breeze. He says, "I think you left me alone with the photograph for too long."
"Sweetheart, I only just found out that it even exists."
"I know." Blaine rolls onto his back, looks up at Kurt's patient eyes. "I think sort of crazy things without you around to, you know, regulate me."
"I can't say I didn't know what I was getting into," Kurt says slowly, "since I'd endured your friendship even before I began putting up with you as a boyfriend, let alone a husband. Blaine - Blaine, he was some random guy at Pride, a guy in a feather boa grabbed your ass five minutes afterwards, you know neither of us choose these things. And after he grabbed me seriously the first thing I thought - once I was capable of thinking again - was that you would look so much better in that uniform."
Blaine watches his eyes, that little glitter of his Kurt-humour, quick-sharp and warm. "Yeah?"
Kurt runs his hand down his arm, eyes on his fingers passing over Blaine's bicep. "You look good in everything, I honestly can't believe I don't tell you that enough. And anyway, what does he matter? Say this guy -"
"Hot sailor guy."
Kurt rolls his eyes. "- him, say he comes back and carries me away to sea with him." Kurt's thumb runs softly-softly over the skin just below Blaine's inner elbow. It really should not have quite the force of arousal that it does. "Well, I know the Dread Pirate Blaine would set sail right after him to rescue me. He'd board the ship and fight his way to me -" Kurt runs his hand down Blaine's arm, lifts his hand by the wrist and kisses his open palm. "- and then carry me back to his ship to lock me in his cabin and ravish me as all good pirates should."
Kurt's kept Blaine's hand near his mouth; Blaine can feel the gentle pass of his breath on his skin. "Pirates?" he says, raising an eyebrow, because okay Kurt likes staring at Johnny Depp but hell, they both do.
"Something in red," Kurt murmurs, because of course Kurt is already mentally dressing Blaine, which he seems to find much more erotic than mentally undressing him. "With a really fabulous hat. And those boots."
"You like the boots," Blaine murmurs, of course, as Kurt presses his lips to his fingers - not quite a kiss - and drags them up to touch the edge of his tongue off his fingertips. Blaine feels himself twitch in his boxers, and swallows.
"Leather pants. Eyeliner." His smile twitches. "Maybe a little unshaven . . . and you would throw me down on your bed and just," his tongue flicks at Blaine's fingers again and this time the twitch is visible through his pants, "have your piratical way with me. With hopefully as few puns as possible because I do know what you're like."
Blaine watches Kurt's tongue curl around two fingers and slip them into his mouth. He says, his voice coming out lower now, "It's Hallowe'en in three months."
"Mm," Kurt says around his fingers, drawing them in and out of his mouth, hot and wet and those are not two words Blaine can casually think with Kurt in this sort of proximity. Blaine swallows again, then sits up and retrieves his hand, rolling Kurt onto his uncomplaining back by his shoulder.
"I'm going to ravish you now," he says, running his hand down Kurt's side to squeeze his ass. Kurt jolts a little and grabs his arms, says, "No puns."
"Can I talk like a pirate?"
"No."
"Not even a little bit?"
"No. I want to be ravished by an extremely articulate pirate. If he would like to comment on how pretty my eyes are then that would be perfectly appropriate."
"You know, it's quite hard to ravish someone who keeps giving you instructions."
Kurt rolls his eyes, stretches his arms up and lays them behind his head, on the pillow. "If you were an actual pirate you would just have -"
"- boarded you already?"
"Oh god."
Blaine starts unbuttoning his shirt, lowering his mouth to say to his breastbone, "If I get carried away and mention my cutlass you will still have sex with me, right?"
"This better be a damn good ravishing," Kurt mutters at the ceiling.
One of the birds sings, through in the living room. The blinds give a quick rolling rattle in the breeze. And Kurt says, "Was that a grunt or did you just say 'arr'?" and Blaine starts laughing into his stomach.