Fic: A True Renaissance Man
The party was in full swing by the time they stepped through the front doors. Someone had hung a disco ball in the middle of the great room and music was pumping through a sound system that probably cost more than their tuition.
“C’mon,” Kurt enthused, squeezing Blaine’s hand and pulling him in the direction of the kitchen, “we need drinks.”
“You need a drink. I have an 8am presentation tomorrow, remember?”
Kurt’s shoulders slumped. “Remind me to arrange our schedules so that neither of us have any classes before noon next semester.”
“Sure. But I like my early classes. Means I have every afternoon free to play.” Blaine had managed to join every intramural team so far that semester.
“Fine,” Kurt sighed. “I guess you can keep your insane morning classes if it means getting to see you in those cute little soccer shorts more often.”
Blaine smiled. “Just wait ‘til baseball season.”
“Oh, but you look funny in hats.” Kurt wrinkled his nose.
“Baby,” he leaned in and whispered, “once you see me in those pants, I promise you won’t even notice the hat.”
“Well, then.” Kurt’s ears reddened a bit. “That’s certainly something to look forward to. My boyfriend, the hottie hot hot jock. Who knew?”
“A true renaissance man.” Blaine tipped an imaginary hat.
“Indeed.”
They stepped up to the table, which was thoroughly covered in bottles.
“So, mister renaissance man, want to try your hand at bartending?”
Blaine rubbed his hands together, surveying the selection. “What’ll it be, sir?”
“I’ll have a whiskey and a whiskey,” Kurt said, gesturing.
“Um ok, George Clooney,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “How about you just stick with the party punch?”
“Fine. I’ll take one to go, please.”
“Do you want fries with that?” Blaine asked, playing along.
A devilish grin played at Kurt’s mouth. “No, but I’ll take a small shake.”
Blaine gave a little shimmy, then handed Kurt a glass and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“You’re fun, bartender man,” Kurt said, sipping his drink. “I think I’ll keep you.”
“And that,” Blaine said, pointing a finger at Kurt, “had better be the last time you pick up a bartender.”
“I make no promises. Especially if they’re as gorgeous as you.”
“Flatterer,” Blaine said, slipping an arm around Kurt and sliding his hand down into his back pocket.
“You know that totally ruins the line of these pants, right?” Kurt asked, pressing closer into Blaine’s side.
“Fully aware. Though they look pretty damn good from this angle.”
“Now who’s the flatterer?” Kurt snaked an arm around Blaine’s waist and squeezed. They walked toward the great room, where they were met with a round of raucous cheers.
“The man of the hour!” one of the choir members shouted, pointing at Blaine. The group roared in response. Strong hands fell on Blaine’s shoulders and he felt himself being pushed forward.
“We demand an encore, Freshman.” Half the group had been disdainfully calling him that since he was awarded his solo. Now it sounded more like a badge of honor.
Blaine was thrust forward onto a makeshift stage and handed a microphone as the opening beats pounded through the speakers. He immediately understood why Kurt had insisted they attend the party. He searched the group, and found him leaning against the wall, grinning wickedly. Blaine shook his head at Kurt, who only winked in response.
Taking a breath, he launched into the song he knew all too well, hamming it up playfully for his audience. He stepped off the stage minutes later, flushed and breathless, and made his way over to Kurt.
“You had a hand in that, didn’t you?” He leaned in and nipped at the skin below Kurt’s ear.
“Maybe?” Kurt shrugged innocently.
“Remind me to play poker with you sometime.” He pressed his back to the wall next to Kurt and interlaced their fingers as they watched a group of guys crowd around the microphone.
A dozen drunken performances later, the microphone was finally unplugged, and the music switched over to a thumping techno beat. Kurt tipped back the last of his third trip to the bar, then set his cup aside. He took Blaine’s hands and pulled him toward the middle of the room.
“Now, about that dancing.” Kurt’s eyes were wide and his speech a bit slurred. He spun around quickly, and Blaine had to reach out to steady him.
“Easy there, Twirly McGee.”
Kurt threw his arms into the air, narrowly missing the people around him, and rocked his head from side to side, bouncing to the pulsing rhythm. His eyes closed as he let himself be overtaken by the music. Blaine bobbed in time, not even attempting to match Kurt’s unbridled movements. Mostly, he just enjoyed his view.
When the last pounding notes echoed away, the room was filled with a slow, easy melody. The juxtaposition was jarring, though no one seemed to exactly mind. Kurt stepped forward, draping his arms over Blaine’s shoulders and drawing close. Blaine placed a strong hand on the small of Kurt’s back and spun them in a slow circle, careful to avoid the couples around them.
They swayed in time, Kurt leaning heavily into Blaine, humming along contentedly and running a hand up and down Blaine’s back. Another slow song began, and they eased into the new beat.
“Babe?” Blaine whispered, tugging at Kurt’s arm.
“I really am, aren’t I?” Kurt slurred in response.
“Um, well, yes. But that’s not what I mean right now. Can you maybe stand up on your own for a sec? Otherwise we may well end up in a heap on the floor in, oh I don’t know, about three seconds.” Blaine’s knees trembled a little under Kurt’s added body weight.
“But Blaine,” Kurt whined, leaning further into him.
“I’m not kidding, Kurt,” Blaine said, taking a shaking step backward. He felt hands on his back, then.
“Looks like you’ve got your hands full, Freshman,” said Matt, one of the tenors.
“You have no idea, man,” Blaine answered as Matt stepped around him and wrapped both arms around Kurt, pulling him back and away from Blaine. Kurt let out a whine, and the two boys guided him in the direction of the couch.
“Dude, he does not hold his alcohol, does he?”
“He’s usually much better than this. What the hell was in the punch?”
“Uh, something akin to a Long Island iced tea. Didn’t anyone warn you?”
“No. And that would’ve been helpful information.” He looked down at Kurt slumped over the arm of the couch. “Watch him for me, will you?”
Without waiting for a response, Blaine set off toward the kitchen. He returned carrying three bottles of water and a sleeve of crackers. Twisting the cap off a bottle, he crouched beside the couch.
“Kurt? I need you to drink this, ok?” Kurt ignored the request, seeming far more interested in the pattern the disco ball was casting on the floor.
“Kurt.” Blaine snapped his fingers to get his attention.
“Hi,” Kurt smiled lazily as he looked up at Blaine. He reached out and patted Blaine’s cheek. “You’re pretty.”
“And you’re pretty trashed,” he answered, amusement in his voice. He held the bottle of water in front of Kurt’s face. “Drink.”
Kurt took the bottle and sipped, then held it back out for Blaine.
“Nope, drink it all. Chugalug, babe.”
Kurt pulled a pouty face, but tipped the bottle back and emptied it. He handed the bottle back to Blaine, burping loudly. He clasped a hand over his mouth and doubled over in a fit of giggles.
Blaine just shook his head. “Excuse you, Mr. Manners.”
Over the next half hour, Blaine managed to cajole Kurt into finishing the other two bottles, along with a handful of crackers and two aspirin.
“Do you think you can make it back to the dorm?” Blaine asked, as Kurt stood, wobbling slightly.
Kurt’s eyes were closed, and he held up a finger to silence Blaine. “Dizzy. Just give me a sec.”
Blaine reached for his elbow as Kurt swayed a little. Kurt drew in a shaky breath, then opened his eyes slowly and met Blaine’s gaze.
“What kind of evil was in the punch?” he whispered.
“You don’t want to know. Are you ok?” Blaine searched his eyes.
“I will be. Once I relearn to walk.” He took a few shaky steps before he regained his equilibrium. “I’m just going to splash a little water on my face, and then can we please go home?”
“Of course.” Blaine ran a sympathetic hand down his arm.