Carry Me Home (Tonight) (1/?)
Title: Carry Me Home (Tonight) (1/?)
Author: blasthisass / goldenwarbler
Rating: up to NC-17
Summary: As disagreements continue to rage in the Anderson household, Blaine is forced to spend his evenings behind a bar to pay his way through OSU. It’s not an ideal solution, but the money is good and he manages well enough. That may very well change, however, when the interested gaze of Kurt Hummel, self-proclaimed resident bad-boy, lands on him. And it seems that Kurt doesn’t have the word ‘no’ in his vocabulary.
Previous Chapters: Here
Disclaimers: No one is mine. Move along now.
Warnings: general underage drinking and debauchery, really. Some chapters will have bullying and some violence, but I'll warn about those when we get there. Also there is some character death, but it lies outside the scope of the actual narrative. I'll warn about it too, but it is important to the backstory.
Spoilers: None
A/N: Thank you for my darling Maggie for allowing me to create something from her plotbunny and for betaing it for me! You're awesome, darling!
A/N2: The first two chapters are kind of exposition, so bear with me :)
At nine on a Friday night, Hampton’s Bar and Grille on King Avenue in Columbus, Ohio was oddly quiet. There were the clusters of sports fanatics glued to the various television screens, watching a football game, and a handful of sophomores playing pool, but other than that, it was relatively empty.
Blaine leaned against the bar, tapping his finger on the countertop as he watched the clock impatiently. He wasn’t holding out for the night to remain silent. It was a Friday and there was a game that night, which meant that as soon as it was over, there would be streams of fans flooding into the place, either ecstatic from the win or bitching about the loss.
But maybe, if he held out for a couple more minutes, his boss would call it a night and then maybe-
His thought was cut off as the doors of the bar burst open and a shout of, “Yo, Blaine! Anderson! Send a couple of rounds over here!” sounded through the bar.
Blaine wrenched his eyes from the clock to see the grinning face of his old high school fellow-alum and freshman year roommate. Behind the beaming face, he could see, as he’d expected, swarms of post-game college students flooding in.
“How’d we do?” he asked over his shoulder as he reached down to start filling up glasses.
“Fucking owned them, man!” David grinned. “Major blowout tonight, by the way. Tons of school spirit and general drunken debauchery. You and Matt should stop by.”
Blaine grinned and slid some beers across the counter at his friend. “We’ll see, though with you lot in here now I doubt I’m getting off any time soon.”
David pouted, but took the beers and disappeared into the yelling crowd. A roar of cheers indicated that the alcohol had reached its destination.
And so, what had begun as a quiet night at one Ohio State’s main campus sports bar soon turned into the usual crowd of college students. Before long someone had managed to turn up the TVs and the rock music on the radio to their maximum volumes. Blaine expertly slid shots down the bar at a couple of football players that had clearly had enough to drink already, but as the amount of alcohol consumed also correlated well with the amount of money they were happy to dish out in tips, he remained silent on the matter.
“Yo, Anderson, I need a couple more rounds!”
Blaine nodded his thanks as several dollar bills were slapped into his palm and he eased his way to the end of the bar toward a blonde girl, who was busy smiling cheekily at him.
“How’s it going, good sir?” she yelled over the music, her eyes twinkling even in the dimly lit bar.
“Oh, you know . . .” Blaine muttered, placing a full glass of beer on her tray and reaching for an empty one.
She snorted. “You’re hating this right now, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about, Cas?”
“God, you’re so annoyed, I love it,” Cassie laughed, settling down on the bar stool to watch him work. “A bar like this is every bartender’s dream. Anyone can earn more in an hour by way of tips than they could for a whole day of minimum wage anywhere else, but Blaine Anderson can’t stand the crowd because it means he won’t be allowed to strum out the mellow tune on his guitar all night.”
Blaine glared at her with mock annoyance. “How long did it take you to wash all that beer out of your hair the last time you pissed me off, Cas?” When she simply continued to grin at him, sticking out her tongue in response, he placed the last glass of beer on her tray and leaned against the bar. “And believe me, I don’t hate the busy nights and the tips. They are what’s been paying for my food and tuition ever since I declared my major and my father deemed me to be unworthy of the Anderson name.”
Cassie’s eyes crinkled sympathetically. “Did you tell your dad that I think it’s hot to have a musician in the family?”
“I don’t understand how it is that you’ve met my father and still think that saying that would be a good idea,” Blaine laughed. It didn’t sound bitter anymore to him, the chuckle-it had been almost two years since his father had declared him that if he deemed going into business beneath him then he could damn well pay for his own education. Since then he’d decided not to waste his time holding a grudge-besides, there were only so many angsty songs one could write before they started to get old and cliché. “Honestly, I think he could handle me not being the son he quite pictured if I would at least follow in his footsteps career-wise.”
“Really, you think he would have let you become an English and music major without batting an eyelid if you weren’t gay?”
“A guy can dream.”
“Well,” she grinned, leaning close to him over the bar. “You can tell your father that your sexuality does not impede the desire of every girl on campus, yours truly included, from wanting to do you.”
Blaine laughed loudly and Cassie’s eyes twinkled. “Somehow I doubt that would help.”
“Damn-”
“Hey, bartender!”
The voice that rose above the sea of voices in the crowd was familiar and as Cassie’s face lit up at the sound of it, Blaine cringed. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes met the icy blue glow of the eyes of the owner of the voice, their sparkle contrasting against the warm glow of the bar and the dark leather of his jacket.
“How about you stop flirting long enough to do your job?” he called out again, seeing Blaine looking back at him.
Blaine closed his eyes momentarily before turning back to Cassie, trying not to get annoyed at the way her eyes had brightened in excitement.
“Oh, fuck yes,” she breathed, looking at the boy whose voice had pierced the air like a bell. “And here I was worried the night would be a total drag.”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “You find him far more fascinating than he actually is.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Blaine Anderson. I’m going to deliver these and then I’m coming back to place bets.” She vanished among the football players with the tray of alcohol balanced expertly over her head before Blaine could formulate a response, forcing him to simply shake his head and make his way over to the boy.
“Finally. I’ll have a beer.” With the curt request, the boy flicked the loose strands of his upswept hair out of his eyes and turned his back on the bar, leaning his leather-clad shoulders against it and surveying the crowd like a wild animal stalking out its prey. Blaine watched him do so, briefly observing the strong line of his jaw flexing as he clicked his tongue ring against the backs of his teeth. As though sensing the lack of movement behind him, the boy quickly turned his sharp gaze back onto Blaine in a way that seemed to slash like a knife. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Blaine raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to say something equally rude in response; the last thing he needed at the moment was to allow some punky teenager to get under his skin. Instead, he held out his hand and said, “ID,” with as much smugness as he could muster.
The boy’s eyes narrowed indignantly. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he demanded.
Blaine smirked. “You called me over here to do my job, so that’s what I’m doing.”
The boy looked like it might be more worth it to punch Blaine than comply and get his alcohol, but with a mutter of, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his tight black jeans and tossed his ID at Blaine, who surveyed it with a knowing look. He felt as though he should be above goading teenagers who had more attitude than was healthy, but something about the kid never failed to crawl under his skin and irritate him to no end. After a moment he handed back the ID with an exaggeratingly sweet smile and a full glass of beer.
The beer was grabbed with rough impatience, payment dropped on the small ring of liquidy condensation that was left behind. Without another word the boy was gone, ducking into the crowd and stalking toward a table of football players who were clearly reenacting the highlights of the game.
“Wow, such a large tip. Thanks, dude,” Blaine muttered sarcastically as he picked up the money and slid it into a cashbox in a drawer behind the bar.
He’d barely had time to breath out the frustrated breath that he’d been holding when the vacated bar stool before him was filled by Cassie.
“God, your face every time he comes in. Utterly priceless,” she laughed, jabbing a finger in the direction of his cheek.
“You know, the only reason you find him so entertaining is because you don’t have to actually interact with him,” Blaine retorted.
“Also, that face you make every time,” she teased back. “Pure gold. But shhh, I didn’t take my five early for you. I did it so we could play my favorite game of all time: which lucky homophobic jock will the lovely Lawrence Kingston be going home with tonight?”
Blaine groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t call him that.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s not his name,” Blaine answered, planting a smile on his face as he pushed several shots toward a group of newcomers.
Cassie raised her eyebrows and looked away from the boy in question, who seemed to have found himself a target and was moving in for the kill. “And what makes you say that, Oh-Wise-One?”
Blaine snorted and leaned toward her over the bar. “The same way I know he’s not 21. Though it has been a while since I’ve needed one, I still know a fake ID when I see it. It’s an impressively good one, I’ll give him that, but it’s definitely a fake.”
Cassie frowned. “You still serve him.”
“Please, like he wouldn’t get it anyway.”
Cassie didn’t answer, him a curious look, as though she’d discerned something unexpected in his words, but she didn’t comment on it. She instead turned her back to the bar and scanned the boy up and down as his entire body pressed up against his chosen jock, his eyes narrowed seductively as he breathed something in the latter’s ear.
Blaine flicked the dishrag he had been resting over his shoulder forward and started wiping the bar clean when Cas muttered, “God, that’s fucking impressive.”
Blaine clenched his teeth, wishing the unnecessary topic of conversation would simply die down. He knew exactly what she was referring to and really, she was putting far too much stock in the annoying punk. “No, it’s not.”
“Oh, come on, Anderson. Even you have to admit that coming to a sports bar at a Big 10 school and successfully picking up a random, potentially homophobic and most likely straight jock every time takes some skill.”
“No. It just takes a vast amount of alcohol.”
“So you’re saying that I could get with you if only I gave you enough to drink?”
“I . . . what, no,” Blaine muttered, casting Cassie a confused look. Sometimes he marveled at her unrelenting talent of steering the conversation back to some joke regarding her trying to get into his pants. “Besides, we’re different.”
“Because you’re gay and I’m a girl? Because I’m not an obnoxious homophobic jock? Are you arguing with me or supporting my statement?”
Blaine shook his head, ignoring the way her eyes twinkled victoriously. “I’m just saying that you have no idea what goes on outside this bar and for a homophobic straight guy, the realization that there’s nowhere to stick it will eventually kick in, no matter how much alcohol he’s had.”
“Please, there’s always somewhere to stick it,” Cassie replied with a wink, but her swift reply carried with it a strange, knowing look. She pursed her lips thoughtfully before speaking again. “But okay, fine. I’ll give you that. You know I’m right, though, and I’m content just patiently waiting for the day when he takes off whatever blinders he’s wearing and realizes what a bombshell you are and decides to come after you. Watching you eat your words will be pure entertainment.”
If Blaine had been drinking something at that very moment, he would have surely choked on it. As it was, he coughed loudly and stared at her with an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You have got to be kidding me. I wouldn’t go near that punk with a ten foot pole.”
Cas chuckled to herself, checking her watch and hopping down from the barstool. “If it ever happens, tell me the secret of his success, will you?” she said, walking around the bar to the radio and searching for a song on the iPod that was hooked up to it.
“Sorry to inform you that you’ll never get your answer,” Blaine started, his voice drowned out as Cassie found the song she was looking for and the opening lines of the Inner Circle’s h exploded through the speakers.
“I’m sorry, what?” she mouthed over the music with a smirk before skipping off to do her job.
Blaine resisted the urge to throw down his dishrag in frustration like a petulant child, his skin prickling with anger at the very idea she was throwing about. He rubbed his fingers along his temples in an attempt to massage away his building headache. When his hand fell from his face he found his gaze seeking out the leather-clad boy only to find him leading his chosen prey to the door of the bar with a smugly victorious look on his face. Blaine found his gaze drawn to the hypnotizing sway of his hips in his skin-tight jeans, just below the edge of his worn leather jacket. It lingered there for a moment before Blaine came to his senses and, disgusted with himself, went back to doing his job, refusing to think about Cassie’s teasing words.
Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do
Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
And to think it had started out looking like a peaceful night.
NEXT
Author: blasthisass / goldenwarbler
Rating: up to NC-17
Summary: As disagreements continue to rage in the Anderson household, Blaine is forced to spend his evenings behind a bar to pay his way through OSU. It’s not an ideal solution, but the money is good and he manages well enough. That may very well change, however, when the interested gaze of Kurt Hummel, self-proclaimed resident bad-boy, lands on him. And it seems that Kurt doesn’t have the word ‘no’ in his vocabulary.
Previous Chapters: Here
Disclaimers: No one is mine. Move along now.
Warnings: general underage drinking and debauchery, really. Some chapters will have bullying and some violence, but I'll warn about those when we get there. Also there is some character death, but it lies outside the scope of the actual narrative. I'll warn about it too, but it is important to the backstory.
Spoilers: None
A/N: Thank you for my darling Maggie for allowing me to create something from her plotbunny and for betaing it for me! You're awesome, darling!
A/N2: The first two chapters are kind of exposition, so bear with me :)
At nine on a Friday night, Hampton’s Bar and Grille on King Avenue in Columbus, Ohio was oddly quiet. There were the clusters of sports fanatics glued to the various television screens, watching a football game, and a handful of sophomores playing pool, but other than that, it was relatively empty.
Blaine leaned against the bar, tapping his finger on the countertop as he watched the clock impatiently. He wasn’t holding out for the night to remain silent. It was a Friday and there was a game that night, which meant that as soon as it was over, there would be streams of fans flooding into the place, either ecstatic from the win or bitching about the loss.
But maybe, if he held out for a couple more minutes, his boss would call it a night and then maybe-
His thought was cut off as the doors of the bar burst open and a shout of, “Yo, Blaine! Anderson! Send a couple of rounds over here!” sounded through the bar.
Blaine wrenched his eyes from the clock to see the grinning face of his old high school fellow-alum and freshman year roommate. Behind the beaming face, he could see, as he’d expected, swarms of post-game college students flooding in.
“How’d we do?” he asked over his shoulder as he reached down to start filling up glasses.
“Fucking owned them, man!” David grinned. “Major blowout tonight, by the way. Tons of school spirit and general drunken debauchery. You and Matt should stop by.”
Blaine grinned and slid some beers across the counter at his friend. “We’ll see, though with you lot in here now I doubt I’m getting off any time soon.”
David pouted, but took the beers and disappeared into the yelling crowd. A roar of cheers indicated that the alcohol had reached its destination.
And so, what had begun as a quiet night at one Ohio State’s main campus sports bar soon turned into the usual crowd of college students. Before long someone had managed to turn up the TVs and the rock music on the radio to their maximum volumes. Blaine expertly slid shots down the bar at a couple of football players that had clearly had enough to drink already, but as the amount of alcohol consumed also correlated well with the amount of money they were happy to dish out in tips, he remained silent on the matter.
“Yo, Anderson, I need a couple more rounds!”
Blaine nodded his thanks as several dollar bills were slapped into his palm and he eased his way to the end of the bar toward a blonde girl, who was busy smiling cheekily at him.
“How’s it going, good sir?” she yelled over the music, her eyes twinkling even in the dimly lit bar.
“Oh, you know . . .” Blaine muttered, placing a full glass of beer on her tray and reaching for an empty one.
She snorted. “You’re hating this right now, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about, Cas?”
“God, you’re so annoyed, I love it,” Cassie laughed, settling down on the bar stool to watch him work. “A bar like this is every bartender’s dream. Anyone can earn more in an hour by way of tips than they could for a whole day of minimum wage anywhere else, but Blaine Anderson can’t stand the crowd because it means he won’t be allowed to strum out the mellow tune on his guitar all night.”
Blaine glared at her with mock annoyance. “How long did it take you to wash all that beer out of your hair the last time you pissed me off, Cas?” When she simply continued to grin at him, sticking out her tongue in response, he placed the last glass of beer on her tray and leaned against the bar. “And believe me, I don’t hate the busy nights and the tips. They are what’s been paying for my food and tuition ever since I declared my major and my father deemed me to be unworthy of the Anderson name.”
Cassie’s eyes crinkled sympathetically. “Did you tell your dad that I think it’s hot to have a musician in the family?”
“I don’t understand how it is that you’ve met my father and still think that saying that would be a good idea,” Blaine laughed. It didn’t sound bitter anymore to him, the chuckle-it had been almost two years since his father had declared him that if he deemed going into business beneath him then he could damn well pay for his own education. Since then he’d decided not to waste his time holding a grudge-besides, there were only so many angsty songs one could write before they started to get old and cliché. “Honestly, I think he could handle me not being the son he quite pictured if I would at least follow in his footsteps career-wise.”
“Really, you think he would have let you become an English and music major without batting an eyelid if you weren’t gay?”
“A guy can dream.”
“Well,” she grinned, leaning close to him over the bar. “You can tell your father that your sexuality does not impede the desire of every girl on campus, yours truly included, from wanting to do you.”
Blaine laughed loudly and Cassie’s eyes twinkled. “Somehow I doubt that would help.”
“Damn-”
“Hey, bartender!”
The voice that rose above the sea of voices in the crowd was familiar and as Cassie’s face lit up at the sound of it, Blaine cringed. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes met the icy blue glow of the eyes of the owner of the voice, their sparkle contrasting against the warm glow of the bar and the dark leather of his jacket.
“How about you stop flirting long enough to do your job?” he called out again, seeing Blaine looking back at him.
Blaine closed his eyes momentarily before turning back to Cassie, trying not to get annoyed at the way her eyes had brightened in excitement.
“Oh, fuck yes,” she breathed, looking at the boy whose voice had pierced the air like a bell. “And here I was worried the night would be a total drag.”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “You find him far more fascinating than he actually is.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Blaine Anderson. I’m going to deliver these and then I’m coming back to place bets.” She vanished among the football players with the tray of alcohol balanced expertly over her head before Blaine could formulate a response, forcing him to simply shake his head and make his way over to the boy.
“Finally. I’ll have a beer.” With the curt request, the boy flicked the loose strands of his upswept hair out of his eyes and turned his back on the bar, leaning his leather-clad shoulders against it and surveying the crowd like a wild animal stalking out its prey. Blaine watched him do so, briefly observing the strong line of his jaw flexing as he clicked his tongue ring against the backs of his teeth. As though sensing the lack of movement behind him, the boy quickly turned his sharp gaze back onto Blaine in a way that seemed to slash like a knife. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Blaine raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to say something equally rude in response; the last thing he needed at the moment was to allow some punky teenager to get under his skin. Instead, he held out his hand and said, “ID,” with as much smugness as he could muster.
The boy’s eyes narrowed indignantly. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he demanded.
Blaine smirked. “You called me over here to do my job, so that’s what I’m doing.”
The boy looked like it might be more worth it to punch Blaine than comply and get his alcohol, but with a mutter of, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his tight black jeans and tossed his ID at Blaine, who surveyed it with a knowing look. He felt as though he should be above goading teenagers who had more attitude than was healthy, but something about the kid never failed to crawl under his skin and irritate him to no end. After a moment he handed back the ID with an exaggeratingly sweet smile and a full glass of beer.
The beer was grabbed with rough impatience, payment dropped on the small ring of liquidy condensation that was left behind. Without another word the boy was gone, ducking into the crowd and stalking toward a table of football players who were clearly reenacting the highlights of the game.
“Wow, such a large tip. Thanks, dude,” Blaine muttered sarcastically as he picked up the money and slid it into a cashbox in a drawer behind the bar.
He’d barely had time to breath out the frustrated breath that he’d been holding when the vacated bar stool before him was filled by Cassie.
“God, your face every time he comes in. Utterly priceless,” she laughed, jabbing a finger in the direction of his cheek.
“You know, the only reason you find him so entertaining is because you don’t have to actually interact with him,” Blaine retorted.
“Also, that face you make every time,” she teased back. “Pure gold. But shhh, I didn’t take my five early for you. I did it so we could play my favorite game of all time: which lucky homophobic jock will the lovely Lawrence Kingston be going home with tonight?”
Blaine groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t call him that.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s not his name,” Blaine answered, planting a smile on his face as he pushed several shots toward a group of newcomers.
Cassie raised her eyebrows and looked away from the boy in question, who seemed to have found himself a target and was moving in for the kill. “And what makes you say that, Oh-Wise-One?”
Blaine snorted and leaned toward her over the bar. “The same way I know he’s not 21. Though it has been a while since I’ve needed one, I still know a fake ID when I see it. It’s an impressively good one, I’ll give him that, but it’s definitely a fake.”
Cassie frowned. “You still serve him.”
“Please, like he wouldn’t get it anyway.”
Cassie didn’t answer, him a curious look, as though she’d discerned something unexpected in his words, but she didn’t comment on it. She instead turned her back to the bar and scanned the boy up and down as his entire body pressed up against his chosen jock, his eyes narrowed seductively as he breathed something in the latter’s ear.
Blaine flicked the dishrag he had been resting over his shoulder forward and started wiping the bar clean when Cas muttered, “God, that’s fucking impressive.”
Blaine clenched his teeth, wishing the unnecessary topic of conversation would simply die down. He knew exactly what she was referring to and really, she was putting far too much stock in the annoying punk. “No, it’s not.”
“Oh, come on, Anderson. Even you have to admit that coming to a sports bar at a Big 10 school and successfully picking up a random, potentially homophobic and most likely straight jock every time takes some skill.”
“No. It just takes a vast amount of alcohol.”
“So you’re saying that I could get with you if only I gave you enough to drink?”
“I . . . what, no,” Blaine muttered, casting Cassie a confused look. Sometimes he marveled at her unrelenting talent of steering the conversation back to some joke regarding her trying to get into his pants. “Besides, we’re different.”
“Because you’re gay and I’m a girl? Because I’m not an obnoxious homophobic jock? Are you arguing with me or supporting my statement?”
Blaine shook his head, ignoring the way her eyes twinkled victoriously. “I’m just saying that you have no idea what goes on outside this bar and for a homophobic straight guy, the realization that there’s nowhere to stick it will eventually kick in, no matter how much alcohol he’s had.”
“Please, there’s always somewhere to stick it,” Cassie replied with a wink, but her swift reply carried with it a strange, knowing look. She pursed her lips thoughtfully before speaking again. “But okay, fine. I’ll give you that. You know I’m right, though, and I’m content just patiently waiting for the day when he takes off whatever blinders he’s wearing and realizes what a bombshell you are and decides to come after you. Watching you eat your words will be pure entertainment.”
If Blaine had been drinking something at that very moment, he would have surely choked on it. As it was, he coughed loudly and stared at her with an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You have got to be kidding me. I wouldn’t go near that punk with a ten foot pole.”
Cas chuckled to herself, checking her watch and hopping down from the barstool. “If it ever happens, tell me the secret of his success, will you?” she said, walking around the bar to the radio and searching for a song on the iPod that was hooked up to it.
“Sorry to inform you that you’ll never get your answer,” Blaine started, his voice drowned out as Cassie found the song she was looking for and the opening lines of the Inner Circle’s h exploded through the speakers.
“I’m sorry, what?” she mouthed over the music with a smirk before skipping off to do her job.
Blaine resisted the urge to throw down his dishrag in frustration like a petulant child, his skin prickling with anger at the very idea she was throwing about. He rubbed his fingers along his temples in an attempt to massage away his building headache. When his hand fell from his face he found his gaze seeking out the leather-clad boy only to find him leading his chosen prey to the door of the bar with a smugly victorious look on his face. Blaine found his gaze drawn to the hypnotizing sway of his hips in his skin-tight jeans, just below the edge of his worn leather jacket. It lingered there for a moment before Blaine came to his senses and, disgusted with himself, went back to doing his job, refusing to think about Cassie’s teasing words.
Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do
Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
And to think it had started out looking like a peaceful night.
NEXT