PFP #3

Nov 12, 2011 15:15

Characters Requested: Kurt/Blaine, Santana

Kurt sprawled languidly in his section of the longboat. “That was the most pointless mission we’ve been on yet,” he moaned, closing his eyes and propping his boots up on the edge of the boat. “And I’m counting the time we stormed Ireland to steal enough potatoes to make a year’s supply of Tots.”

Tugging hard on the oars, Blaine smiled at him fondly. “You say that about every mission,” he pointed out. “This one wasn’t that bad.”

Kurt turned to look at him incredulously, shading his eyes with his sleeve. “Blaine. The Captain’s old ‘mentor’ tried to put Sam in a French Maid costume. She tried to sell me to an Antique Doll Collector in a kimono.”

Blaine shuddered. “Okay,” he admitted, “maybe it was that bad.” Behind him, Sam turned a delicate shade of green.

Kurt sighed, closing his eyes again. “At least we got what we came for, whatever it is,” he admitted, turning the sealed container holding the scroll in his hands. “How much longer until we’re back to the ship?”

Blaine’s mouth twisted. “About two minutes slower than if you decided to pitch in and help row,” he said wryly, beginning to sweat a little.

Kurt didn’t bother to sit up. “I’m the cartographer; my hands are an expensive, precious commodity,” waving Blaine off delicately. “Besides, we’ve already got five strapping young men rowing; you don’t need my help.”

Sam frowned, confused. “Uh, Kurt?” he asked. “There are only three of us.”

“Finn counts as two extra people,” Kurt pointed out.

Finn merely shrugged, apparently content with that assessment.

After a few more minutes of rowing, they reached the ship. Where the Captain was waiting for them, hands on her hips and looking displeased.

“Goldilocks and the Three Homos,” she called down to them derisively. “You’re the last ones back. Again.”

“I’m not gay, Santana,” Finn called back, grabbing the hooks dangling overhead and beginning to secure the longboat.

Santana snorted. “What color are my ladyparts? You’re gay,” she said, not pausing to let him answer. “Get back on deck and load the longboat, we’re leaving as soon as the tide turns.”

She watched as the four scaled the rope ladder up the side of the ship. “Penguins,” she addressed Kurt and Blaine. “I wants my scroll.”

Rolling his eyes, Blaine took the container from Kurt and passed it over. Santana cracked the seal, pulling out the frail parchment and studying it with a small frown.

“Awesome,” she decided. “You’re done for now. Go raise your main sails and shiver each other’s timbers or something. Loudly, where I can hear it.”

“Oh please, do go on,” Kurt requested dryly, examining his nails. “Your nautically-themed innuendos haven’t lost any of their original charm over the last sixteen months.”

Santana smirked nastily. “Please, I am full of phallic fun and you know it,” she scoffed. “You haven’t even heard the ones about swabbing the poop deck, or weighing anchor in each other’s briny deep; I worked for minutes on those ones.”

Blaine choked.

Kurt thumped him on the back. “You’re horrifying,” he said flatly.

Santana shrugged. “That’s your opinion,” she replied loftily. “Begone, Princess.”

She strode past them toward the helm, where Salty Puck, the one-eyed helmsman, was sleeping. “Hey! Useless McSteeringwheel,” she snapped, “up and at ‘em. We’re changing course.”

Puck groaned. “Again?” he grumbled, stumbling to his feet.

Santana handed him the scroll. “Yup,” she answered cheerily. “I gots to see an island about a girl.”

Kurt looked at Blaine. “As soon as we stop somewhere nice, I’m breaking our contracts,” he said fervently. “And next time, I’m picking the ship.”

Blaine looked sheepish. “I’m going to be apologizing for that forever, aren’t I?” he wanted to know.

Kurt nodded. “Until we’re eighty, at least,” he agreed, ruffling Blaine’s hair. “But look on the bright side: when you get your own ship, you’ll have me with you, and I can tell you if the name you pick means something other than what you think it means.”

“Get the ship ready, minions!” The captain yelled from the bow. “The Flying Cooter waits for no man!”

Blaine sighed apologetically. “I’ll wear my glasses before signing anything next time, I promise.”

finn, fanfiction, glee, writing, klaine, pfp, santana will cut you

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