(warnings for dumb jocks being homophobic and bullying)
The bell signalling the end of lunch rang eight minutes ago, and Blaine still isn’t in his history class.
He shuffles through the rest of his papers and straightens them as fast as he can, willing himself not to take the time to make sure everything’s in the right place and arranged by date. His folder is waiting open on the table, and he slides the pile in quickly, snapping it shut and shoving it into his bag.
It’s not his fault he’s late for class. Mr Carter held him back after math to congratulate him on his 100% score on the latest test, and while he appreciated the recognition, he only had fifteen minutes for lunch before he had to head to the chemistry department to run his 9th Grade tutor group. And then of course one of the slightly less bright students stayed after to ask about valence electrons, which meant finishing late again and therefore not being on time for history class.
It also really doesn’t help that the chemistry department is on the complete opposite side of the school from history. He jogs down the empty corridors, bag bouncing against his side, and briefly considers changing over his books at his locker before deciding that he definitely does not have enough time.
He turns down the corridor past the Spanish rooms and immediately squeaks to a halt because—
“Well lookie here,” says Karofsky, stepping forwards. “Little Anderson is late to class. That’s not gonna look good on your record, nerd.”
Blaine takes a tiny step back, hoping he can run before they get any further, but Karofsky stomps his foot on the ground and he jumps, freezing again.
“Please,” Blaine says quietly. “Please, I’ve done nothing wrong to you, I just need to get to class—“
“Nothing wrong,” scoffs another, stalking down the corridor angrily. “How about parading your prim and proper little faggy ass all over my school, huh?”
“Plea—“
“I think he needs shutting up.” They’re a lot closer now, and Blaine unfreezes finally, already stepping away—but then Karofky manages to grab the front of his shirt before he can start running and yanks him back towards him, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare try and run, bitch, we’re gonna pummel the homo out of you, just like you deserve—“
“HEY!”
Karofsky releases him, spinning round to face the newcomer, and Blaine drops to the ground with a thud.
“Leave him alone!”
There are footsteps, running, and he shuffles away to the lockers, ducking and covering his head. He hears shouts and a couple of thwacks that sound a lot like punches, then more running footsteps before the corridor falls silent.
He raises his head slowly, nervous, but there’s no sign of any of the jocks left. Instead, a boy is leaning against the locker bank opposite him, scowling and examining his knuckles.
He recognizes him almost instantly. Kurt Hummel, one of the skanks and the school’s resident badboy. No wonder Karofsky and his gang head fled, because Kurt is known to be fierce.
And he won’t deny that he’s maybe had a little teeny tiny crush on Kurt since he first laid eyes on him.
“Um,” Blaine starts, and Kurt looks up, face unreadable, contoured by the blue and green streaks in his hair and bright purple of his gauge earrings. He raises an eyebrow.
“You—you didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did.” His voice is low, still holds traces of anger. “They were gonna beat you up.”
Blaine pauses, fiddles with his bag. “Thank you.”
Kurt nods stiffly before striding across the corridor to him. He offers a hand, warm and surprisingly soft, and pulls Blaine to his feet. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice unusually gentle, still clasping Blaine’s hand.
“I—yeah, I’m fine.”
Kurt nods again and releases his hold, glancing up and down the corridor before turning back to Blaine. “I’m sorry those assholes can—fuck around like that. It’s ridiculous. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Blaine nods. “I—um—“
“Shit! You were probably on your way somewhere! I’m sorry, oh my God, you should—“
“Kurt, Kurt, it’s okay.” Blaine finds he quite likes the way Kurt’s name sounds on his tongue; finds a smile. “I’m already nearly twenty-five minutes late, it’s probably not even worth going anymore.”
Kurt looks impressively shocked. “Blaine Anderson, skipping class?” he laughs. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
Blaine shrugs, because the idea of skipping is growing more and more appealing, especially if it means hanging out with Kurt Hummel.
“Maybe I…”
“C’mon,” says Kurt, breaking into a rare grin and sliding a warm hand over his elbow. “I know a place.”
Blaine blushes, but barely hesitates before allowing himself to be pulled down the corridor. His stomach feels a little fluttery, and he’s not quite sure whether it’s at the prospect of skipping class to hang out with a skank or skipping class to hang out with this skank in particular.
*
The sofa under the bleachers is quiet, surrounded by old cigarette stubs and broken glass. Kurt drops down onto the ratty couch, crossing his legs and swinging a scruffy combat boot in Blaine’s direction.
“Take a seat?” he says, patting the worn fabric next to him. “It’s comfy, promise.”
Blaine sits down carefully, doing his best to avoid a suspicious looking stain on the back of the sofa. He shuffles away from it a little and accidentally brushes against Kurt’s bare arm, freezing and smiling awkwardly at him.
Kurt simply raises an eyebrow and kicks his legs out in front of him, tipping his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. Blaine watches him surreptitiously, lets his gaze drift over the soft curve of his nose, the gorgeous extent of his neck, the lean tone of his muscles under his artfully shredded shirt. He’s stunning, despite the hair streaks and the piercings and then tattoos—in fact, Blaine thinks to himself, they just seem to increase Kurt’s attractiveness. He swallows, shifts awkwardly, and tries to force his eyes away from Kurt’s legs, stretching out as if for miles.
“Stop staring at me.”
Blaine jumps. Kurt’s still got his eyes shut, but there’s a little smirk in the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not—I wasn’t—“
Kurt cracks an eye open and looks at him amusedly. “You definitely were.” He sits up, and to Blaine’s surprise, turns to face him, laying his arm on the back of the couch behind his neck. “I really don’t mind.”
“Oh.”
“Mmm.” Kurt smiles and unabashedly trails his eyes down Blaine’s body, then reaches out and traces a finger along his arm, prickling his skin with goosebumps and making his breath hitch. “You’re not too bad yourself, you know. Behind all the math and the textbooks and the glasses.”
He’s a lot closer now, and Blaine feels his breath coming shorter, hands in tight fists in his lap, willing himself not to reach out and grab Kurt, pull their bodies together and kiss him until they can’t breathe.
“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt murmurs, almost quiet enough that he could be talking to himself. “You have no idea of the effect you have on me.”
Blaine makes a choked noise, but is silenced by Kurt’s lips on his.
It’s unexpectedly soft, just a gentle press of their mouths. Kurt’s warm and tender lips seem to fit so perfectly against his, and he relaxes, letting his eyes drift shut and settling a hand on Kurt’s neck, holding him there. Kurt inhales deeply and changes the angle, lips a little further open, more inviting, and Blaine happily follows, moulding Kurt’s bottom lip between his and stroking his thumb over his jawbone.
They part to breathe, and Kurt giggles a little, the bright toothy smile spread across his face so at odd with the jagged metal of his eyebrow piercing and the slashes in his shirt.
“Someone’s been doing their homework,” he breathes. “You’re an excellent kisser.” He pauses, and glances down a little, before murmuring, “Not that I’m really one to know.”
Oh. Being a skank, Blaine expected that Kurt would be quite experienced in all things kissing, but he can’t deny that he’s pleased to know he’s not the only beginner here.
The events from the afternoon, even the fact that he should be in a history class right now, have all been wiped from his mind.He feels warm and bubbly inside, like he could burst into song. He just kissed Kurt Hummel. And he will happily do it again and again and again.
So he does.
It looks like he’s going to be spending a lot more time skipping class in the future.
aka pocket!Blaine finds extra comfort in another identity. bits inspired by a talk with steph on skype (and here's the other pocket!blaine drabble)
Blaine doesn't mean for it to happen, honestly. It's just that he really loves watching superhero movies even though Kurt frowns at the violence, and he started musing aloud about what it would be like to be a superhero himself. He doesn't expect Kurt to take these little things to heart and interview him, subtly across the span of a week, about colors and capes and what kind of superhero he'd want to be.
At the week's end, Kurt surprises him with a costume that's the perfect size for him, made of stretchy fabric and tough plastic and, frankly, it's everything Blaine's ever wanted. Besides a home, that is, but he has that now, with Kurt.
He dubs himself Nightbird and spends that first day wearing the costume and speaking in third person, which serves to make Kurt smile more than he's ever smiled before. That's what superheroes do, Blaine decides, or at least that's what he's going to do: make people smile.
It's a few days before the costume comes out again, and this time it's because they're about to have a Batman movie marathon with Kurt's friend, Sam, who really likes Blaine. Blaine's settled in Sam's hair while Kurt's making more popcorn when Sam says something that's obviously been on his mind for a while.
"Dude, Blaine, you should have a nice ride to go with that costume," he says, trying to look up even though it's physically impossible for him to see Blaine right now.
"It's Nightbird," Blaine reminds him, but then he takes in what Sam actually said. "Wait, what do you mean a nice ride?"
"Like the Batmobile! But cooler."
"Nothing's cooler than the Batmobile." But Blaine slips from Sam's head to his shoulder, only wobbling a little bit upon landing. "What did you have in mind?"
"I dunno, like a plane or something. There's gotta be one of those remote-controlled airplanes that you can fit into."
"What are you boys talking about?" Kurt asks, returning from the kitchen. Blaine beams up at him; the idea of having his own Night-vehicle has already taken over his desires.
"I was just telling your little bro here--" Blaine tugs at Sam's ear, cheeks warm. "What? You're little and you're a bro, man."
"Keep going," Kurt says, rolling his eyes fondly.
"Yeah alright, so we were thinking that he should have a superhero vehicle, maybe one of those cool remote-controlled airplanes." Kurt arches an eyebrow, but his lips quirk up into a smile, as well.
"I don't need a plane," Blaine says hurriedly. "I bet they're expensive; I don't want anyone to go overboard for me. Or my civilian identity."
"Don't you worry, Nightbird," Kurt says, sitting back down on the couch. Blaine jumps from Sam's shoulder to Kurt's and kisses his cheek as he continues, "We'll figure something out."
Figure something out they do - within a month there's a remote-controlled biplane taking up space on the kitchen table, old newspapers spread underneath it as Kurt walks up with a few cans of paint. Blaine leaps to his feet and straightens his tiny smock, ready to make this plane absolutely perfect. His brush is a standard detail brush, except it has been snapped in half (the broken end filed to a blunt, non-dangerous tip) to make it less cumbersome.
Kurt drops some paint onto a paper plate for Blaine and sets his jaw; Blaine imitates him, pondering where to start. A base coat, then details in lighter blue and black. The Nightbird insignia will adorn the top of the upper wing, of course, on each side.
They get to work, and they manage to get a surprising amount done before the shenanigans begin; Blaine, being careless with his brush, accidentally paints a streak of dark navy onto Kurt's cheek. Kurt, in retaliation, pokes Blaine's butt with a paint-wet finger, successfully ruining his painting pants.
"Hey!" Blaine squeaks, twisting around to check the damage. "That's not fair, you're bigger than me."
"That's no excuse," Kurt says, but he's grinning. "However, I'll let you paint my face again if it makes you feel better."
"Can I give you kitty whiskers?" Blaine asks, and Kurt snorts, but nods. So Blaine hops up onto Kurt's palm and lets himself be lifted to eye level. He loves Kurt's eyes - they're beautiful, and right now he can see his reflection in them. After painstakingly and carefully drawing the whiskers, he kisses Kurt's nose, laughing when it makes Kurt scrunch his face up.
After that, the painting gets finished up relatively quickly and they hurry through cleanup in order to collapse onto Kurt's bed, Blaine curled up on the pillow next to Kurt as they fall asleep. He's a little slower to drift off than Kurt, so he lies awake for a few minutes simply looking at the boy, so sweet and kind towards a pocket-sized stranger on the streets turned good friend. Best friend, maybe, but Blaine's careful not to think too much of himself - after all, as similar in interests as they are, there's still the inescapable fact that he's four inches tall and getting no taller any time soon.
----
The Nightbird alias turns out to be exactly what he needs for the occasional bad day, but what he never really expected was for it to be good for others, as well.
Blaine discovers this little gift when he's out with Kurt and Sam - the latter has the Nightplane and its controller, and Blaine (as Nightbird) is in Kurt's front jacket pocket, his masked visage scanning the streets as they head towards the nearest park.
During his survey of this slice of the city, Blaine spots a young girl - he'd guess five or six years old - crying on a bench, a woman who seems to be her mother trying to hush her. He frowns and tugs at the pocket until Kurt makes a questioning noise.
"Can we go over there?" he asks, pointing. Kurt looks down, then follows Blaine's finger until he spots the woman and her daughter. He looks apprehensive, but he nudges Sam's shoulder and starts in that direction.
"What are you doing?" Kurt asks, but Blaine just shakes his head.
"Just hold me out in front of her? Trust me, I just want to try something."
"Okay..."
Kurt takes Blaine out of his pocket as they approach the girl and smiles apologetically when he greets the mother, who's more than a little shocked at the sight of Blaine.
"What-- Who is that?" she says nervously, and Blaine's grateful that she amended her word choice.
"This is Bl--" But Blaine stomps his feet on Kurt's palm, effectively stopping him. Kurt looks at him and tilts his head, confused. Blaine clears his throat.
"I'm Nightbird," he says brightly, bowing to the mother. "May I speak with your daughter?"
"Uh..." She looks at Kurt, who nods encouragingly.
"He's harmless and human, I promise," he tells her. "Plus, he's obviously very cute." Sam nods along a bit too enthusiastically next to him.
"Well, okay," she agrees, apparently willing to try anything at this point. Kurt lowers Blaine to the girl's level.
"Hey," Blaine says gently. The girl, who's stopped crying but just barely, blinks at him. "What's your name?"
"J-Jenny," she sniffs. "What's yours?"
"I'm Nightbird, the Pocket Avenger," Blaine says proudly, sticking his chest out. "It's nice to meet you, Jenny."
"Is that really your real name?" Jenny asks suspiciously. Blaine grins.
"Nope, but I'm afraid I can't tell you what that is. It's a secret," he says in a stage whisper. "Can't have any bad guys knowing what my civilian identity is."
"A bad boy took my lollipop," Jenny says sadly, her eyes wide and pleading. "Can you get him for me?"
"I can do something even better. Do you mind holding me, like my friend Kurt is right now?" Jenny shakes her head; her eyes aren't so red anymore, Blaine notices, and he figures he's doing something right. "Just hold your hand out with your palm up."
Jenny does, and Blaine carefully steps from Kurt's hand to Jenny's, which is much smaller and more unsure, but he feels safe in knowing that she won't let him fall. "You're like a little person."
Blaine smiles. "I am a little person, but I'm also a superhero."
"You can't be a superhero and just a person at the same time," Jenny says, skeptical. She lifts him up to get a better look, and Blaine absentmindedly fixes his hair. "What's that in your hair?"
Blaine hears Kurt stifle a laugh and makes a mental note to reiterate his stance on hairstyling when they get home. For now, he says, "It's just hair gel, and you can totally be a superhero and a person at the same time. I mean, why not?"
"I can't be one because I don't have any special powers," she says.
"Well, that's silly. Have you ever made someone smile?"
"Yeah..."
"Then you're a superhero! Heroes save people, and making someone smile means you've saved them from feeling sad, or just down in the dumps. At least for a second." Jenny thinks on this and, slowly, a smile comes to her face. Blaine beams. "See?"
"I like you, Mr. Nightbird," Jenny says. "Mommy, can we keep him?"
The mother, who's been watching the exchange with an anxious expression, smiles softly. "He's not a kitten, sweetie. Say thank you to the nice man."
"Thank you Mr. Nightbird," Jenny says dutifully. Blaine reaches out until the girl gets the hint and brings him to her cheek, which he hugs with arms spread wide. She giggles and gives Blaine back to Kurt after a second or two. "Does he give you smiles too?"
Kurt nods, eyes bright. "Every day."
Jenny hums and rubs her eyes, removing the tracks left by her tears. The mother turns to Kurt and says, "Thank you so much, I had tried everything before you came along."
"Oh, don't thank me," Kurt says hurriedly. He holds Blaine out to her. "Thank him."
"Oh-- Of course." She laughs - she still sounds a bit nervous, but Blaine understands. Kurt had been wary of him at the start, too; there aren't exactly a lot of guys his size walking around New York City. But she surprises him when she holds out her index finger. "Thank you."
Blaine shakes her finger with both hands and nods, surely blushing underneath his mask. "It was nothing. Your daughter is very sweet."
They move on soon after that, Sam talking excitedly about Blaine doing just that, but regularly, making it a thing in their neighborhood, but Blaine's too focused on Kurt to really pay attention. Kurt's unusually quiet, but Blaine doesn't ask; he simply observes, and resolves to figure it out later. After all, they have a plane to attempt to fly, and Kurt would never let him cut their day short for a talk.
----
Blaine doesn't dress as Nightbird every day, of course. But most days he at least carries the mask; Kurt teases him about it, in a friendly sort of way. Blaine shrugs every time, mumbling that he likes having it close. And then Kurt gives him a soft look and lets him nuzzle his cheek before changing the topic.
The mask turns out to be somewhat useful - but not quite useful enough - one rainy day when Kurt (with Blaine in his pocket) ducks into a warm coffeeshop.
"Do you want to share a cookie?" he asks.
"Sure," Blaine says, sure to be loud enough since he's not looking out today. He's kind of tired, actually, and he's starting to wonder if he could just fall asleep here in Kurt's pocket. It's warm and, if he leans into Kurt a bit, he can hear his heartbeat. It's comforting somehow, knowing that Kurt's alive and existing and everything Blaine's dreamt of.
"And what would you like, handsome?" The voice snaps Blaine from his tiredness and he glares in the direction of it. He doesn't like the tone - which is silly, it's simple flirting and nothing more - but it gives him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Oh--" Kurt giggles, caught off-guard. The guy must be cute, Blaine decides, or else Kurt wouldn't have reacted much at all. He's picky when it comes to guys, or at least that's what he tells Blaine whenever he asks about his dating life. It's strange - Kurt doesn't seem to have been with anyone since Blaine's moved in. "Just a chocolate chip cookie and a medium nonfat mocha."
"Is that a hippo brooch?"
Blaine rolls his eyes, the sinking feeling getting worse. He fumbles around for the mask; by the time he finds it, Kurt's sitting down at a table. But he's not alone.
"Really, it's fine, I have a friend--"
"Boyfriend?"
"W-Well, not quite..."
Blaine puts the mask on and huddles into the corner of the pocket. He already feels a little bit better as Nightbird, but it's not quite enough. He's not quite enough, obviously and literally. It's silly of him to think of Kurt that way at all - but he can't help the pang he feels when he remembers that Kurt is attractive, and will no doubt fall for someone eventually.
That someone won't be Blaine, a four inch-tall guy that dresses as a tiny superhero and flies around in a child's toy airplane. The sooner he accepts that, the better.
"Blaine?" Blaine perks up at the sound of his name, tuning back into the conversation despite every instinct telling him to ignore it, to spare himself. "What kind of name is that?"
"Blaine," Kurt starts, his voice is hardened slightly, a danger sign for whatever guy is sitting opposite them, "is very important to me. I'd appreciate you not to take that tone."
"But he's not a boyfriend?"
"No, he's more than that. I guess you could say he's my hero."
Blaine nearly pops right out of the pocket just then, but he restrains himself. More than that? My hero? He hears footsteps going away and can't hold back anymore; he stands and tugs frantically at the fabric, pulling Kurt's surprised attention.
"What was that?" he asks, eyes wide. Kurt grins and lifts him out of his pocket to set him on the table next to their cookie.
"What was what?" Kurt says innocently, but Blaine puts his hands on his hips.
"You know what I mean," he says. "Am I... really your hero?"
"Heroes make people smile, don't they?" Blaine nods, frowning a little. Kurt reaches towards him and carefully takes his mask off. "Seeing as you make me smile more than anyone else, I'd say you're definitely my biggest hero."
"I didn't know I was a biggest anything," Blaine says awkwardly, trying not to appear overly pleased. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. Now eat up, I want to go shopping." Blaine pulls a chocolate chip from the cookie, smiling.
"For what?"
"For my hero, of course. I think he could use a few new bow ties."
Blaine ducks his head, almost overwhelmed. But he's happier than he can articulate properly at the moment, which is a good kind of overwhelmed. He's Kurt's hero, not Nightbird, not anyone else. Just little old him, Blaine Anderson. And he'll gladly keep up that title for as long as Kurt wants him around - it's not like it's a hardship to make Kurt smile.
In fact, that smile has saved him, too. And those hands, and those eyes, and simply Kurt. Being a hero for his hero is, truly, all he needs.
anon prompted: can you please write a fic of just klaine making out & grinding on each other in the back of blaine's car <3
nc-17 for obvious reasons
“C’mon—Blaine—“
“Mmf,” Blaine replies, sucking up the side of Kurt's neck and drawing the skin under his ear between his teeth. “You always taste so good after booty camp.”
Kurt tips his head back against the seat, fingers tight in the back of Blaine’s shirt, stretches his neck to the side to give Blaine better access. “Please—oh—please never say the word ‘booty’ when we’re making out again.”
Blaine hands blaze trails underneath his shirt, fingertips dipping into his waistband, brushing over the top of his ass. “What if I wanna touch it, though? Your booty.”
He yanks Blaine’s shirt further up his back, sliding his other palm over the smooth sweaty skin revealed. Blaine rocks his hips down again, harder, and groans loudly, teeth closing over the lobe of Kurt’s ear. He sucks, hard, sending a hot wave of arousal right down from his ear to his cock, hands clenching around Blaine’s waist.
“How long have we got?” Blaine pants against the skin of neck, breath hot and tantalising.
Kurt peers over Blaine’s shoulder at the display on the dashboard, eyes threatening to slip closed as his boyfriend grinds down against him, hard and needy through his jeans.
“Twenty minutes.” He grabs Blaine’s hips tighter, lifting him up off his lap before rocking his hips up and slamming Blaine down at the same time, the car rocking slightly with the force.
“God,” moans Blaine, and sucks his way back to Kurt’s mouth, barely even kissing him as he rocks his hips down. “M’gonna come all over my pants.”
Kurt grins against his lips but doesn’t dignify him with a response, choosing to slide his hands down inside Blaine’s pants instead. He squeezes the firm globes of his ass, spreading them apart and letting a finger dip down into the middle, sliding along his crack and brushing over his entrance.
Blaine gasps, pressing his forehead hard against Kurt’s, pupils dark and wide with lust. “C’mon, Kurt,” he breathes. “Fuck me.”
Kurt nips his bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth and sucking on it. Blaine moans and slides a hand up over Kurt’s chest, grabbing onto his jaw and pushing Kurt back to kiss him properly. Kurt allows it, for a moment, then tips his head forward and nibbles on Blaine’s chin.
“Mmm,” he says, revelling in the soft high-pitched moans coming from Blaine’s mouth as he rubs his finger over his hole. “Dad said you could stay over after dinner. He and Carole are going out to a movie, and I blackmailed Finn and Sam into going over to Puck’s, so we’ll have the house all to ourselves.”
Blaine whines and grabs a handful of Kurt’s hair, yanking his head back to press a hard kiss to his mouth. “Please, Kurt, I’m gonna come—“
Kurt grins and dips the very tip of his finger into Blaine’s hole.
Blaine keens, hips grinding down even harder, pressing their cocks together through the layers of fabric, and comes. Kurt follows quickly, hands squeezing around Blaine’s ass and mouth wide over his neck.
They sit there, panting, for a few minutes, until Kurt finds the energy to push Blaine off and find the box of tissues in the front seat. The windows are all entirely steamed up.
They clean up as best they can without changing and clamber back into the front, hair dishevelled and skin flushed. “Well,” says Kurt. “As amazing at that was, I still forbid you from saying ‘booty’ while we’re having sex ever again.”
Blaine just grins at him.
And if, later that evening, when Kurt’s on his hands and knees with a tongue up his ass, Blaine happens to let the word slip a couple more times—he just giggles, and takes it in his stride. Because hey, it’s yielded some pretty fantastic sex so far.
