An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“It’s an investment property,” the man set the folder open in front of Ilya. “Real estate, especially real estate in Vermont, only appreciates in value. It’s a sound investment.”
Ilya carefully flipped through the pages, a stack of full-color photos showing a large house somewhere very green. Lots of trees, some pine, some not, both above and below the house on the mountain. A beautiful view over the valley, no other houses in sight.
“It’s over 350 acres; that’s a little over a square kilometer or so” Ilya’s financial advisor noted Ilya’s raised eyebrows, and continued. ”There are agreements with the neighboring farms to use the pastures for grazing, the trees are tapped for maple syrup - someone else does the sugaring; they use the barns and the sugarhouse on the lower slopes of the property, but the house sits higher on the mountain, and is very private.”
“And the house?”
“5 bedrooms, chef’s kitchen with high-end appliances, weight room, sauna,” the man continued, “there is an off-site property manager who can assist with all aspects of day-to-day living– groceries, snowplowing and firewood, and–”
But Ilya wasn’t listening, instead drawing his fingertips over a photo of the enormous flower garden, rambling and bursting with blooms. His mother would have loved this garden.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Luca Haas/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Luca Haas, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander haunts the narrative - Character
Additional Tags: canon divergence - the long game, First Time, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Coaching During Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, First time for Luca Haas, No beta we die like something something
Series: Part 2 of Kissing his lips and pretending it's you
Summary:
There's an old adage that the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else.
It's not part of Ilya's original plan, but after his heart is shattered, Luca helps him begin to pick up the pieces.
Luca learns things. Hot things. Filthy things. What he likes, what he needs in bed. And how to help keep Ilya from drowning.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hannah the chorus manager, Svetlana Vetrova, other various and sundry characters I have not yet decided upon but will update as needed
Additional Tags: AU - Conductor! Ilya / Baritone! Shane, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, the soprano solo is orgasmic but that's not necessarily the important part of this story, Written by a certified Music Nerd, do I need to tag for Carmina Burana?
Summary:
In music theory, contrapuntal, or counterpoint, is the relationship of two or more simultaneous musical lines (also called voices) that are harmonically dependent on each other.
***
Ilya is a guest conductor, Shane is a Baritone.
****
Shane stands, stretches his arms all the way up over his head, leaning to one side, then the other. It’s really been too long since he worked out and he feels like he’s turning into a pretzel. He lets out a small groan at how good the stretch feels– and immediately locks eyes with Ilya across the room. Shane feels the electric ping deep in his stomach – they both are staring intently at the other. He doesn’t know what has drawn his attention to Ilya, in particular; other than his….well, his everything. There isn’t anything that has drawn his attention other than Ilya’s beauty, the powerful grace of his body, the quick flash of his smile, the….
Ilya breaks eye contact first, but not before giving Shane an entirely different smile; a little shy, a little hesitant, but very very warm.
Well, here we go again, a mere 8 years after the prior section was posted, a mere 11 years after I started writing it. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then, some really wonderful, some absolutely torturous, but this story has stayed in my head for all that time, through all that, and I just had to finish it. I couldn't bear to leave my boys like that. They have at least one more episode to finish this story; this isn't the end.
As ever, this is with Lex's help. He egged me on while I plotted this whole thing out in 2012, and he's still the only person in the world aside from me who knows how the last scene goes.
And for Axe, always.
And for somewhereonlyino, because I still remember she asked me about this years ago and I never forgot that and I still appreciate her support and her patience.
un-beta'd, yet hopefully correctly transcribed from my notebook scribblings
Previous parts can be found here
**
″And what I am going to do?″
″You— you’re going to talk to Kurt. You’re going to tell him how you feel. You’re going to kiss him and hold him and–″
″Katie?″ Blaine’s voice was suddenly small, and broken.
″I’m here, Blaine,″ she slid down onto her back and he rolled into her arms.
″What if he’s not– what if he doesn’t– what am I supposed to do then?″
″He is, and he does and you’ll cross that bridge if you get to it, love.″
″I’m scared, Katie.″
″I’ve never heard you say that before. All this test piloting and facing the jaws of death– I’ve never heard you say that.″
″I don’t think I ever have been, before.″
″That’s a good thing, Blaine. Being scared means knowing you finally have something to lose.″
...
Blaine drove Kate to the tiny airport and waited as she got her ticket checked. Before she got on the plane, she hugged him fiercely.
″Go talk to him. Today. Now. Before you lose your nerve.″
″I can’t – he’s so busy today and I–″
″Blaine Anderson, you do it today. Don’t put off being happy for one more minute.″
***
Blaine stands dumbly in the front hallway, his mouth suddenly desert dry, his hands unbearably cold.
“No, no, I — uhh, just…..no.” he stammers.
“Control just called, I need to head into the office,” Kurt straightens his tie as he rushes down the hall. “There are candles in the kitchen, if the power goes out.”
“Yeah, I’ll…”Blaine like his lips, can’t put words together as he makes his way slowly down towards the kitchen. Kurt buzzes back down the hall towards him - there is barely enough room for one person and Blaine is still stunned, still unable to formulate what– how he should be moving right now.
Kurt smiles, grabbing Blaine by the the shoulders to teasingly turn him out of the way so he can pass– and pauses, his face growing serious.
The hallway is windowless, cool and dark with the smell of salt from the ocean and a faint whiff of coconut sun lotion – a respite from the rising winds and rain beginning outside. Kurt sucks in a breath, his hands suddenly hot through Blaine’s shirt, and Blaine cannot tear his eyes away from Kurt’s mouth.
“We should–” Blaine stops.
“I want to… We should, yes, but I have to go right now; this weather coming in tonight, I have to be there for storm prep and evac.
Blaine nods. He can’t think of how to begin anyway.
“They aren’t sure if this hurricane will turn at the last minute and nail us, or if we’ll just get the edge of rain, but– I’ll be back as soon as I can and then we can…” Kurt’s hands release and as he turns, they brush across Blaine’s chest in a way that can't be anything but deliberate. Blaine’s skin is on fire
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kurt says quietly. As he opens the door and heads for his car, thunder crashes and the rain slams down in a wall around him.
***
Blaine doesn’t hear Kurt’s car leave, but another blast of thunder and he finally snaps into actions. Were there towels still on the laundry line outside? And better bring in the barbecue and deck chairs, just in case. Rummaging to find candles and matches in the drawer in the kitchen and reaching down to get the aptly named hurricane lamps down from the top of the cabinets.
The wind is really picking up, a dull road outside. Every now and then a gust will slam the windows and Blaine flinches – he’s never been anywhere near a hurricane before and already this is the worst rain and wind he’s ever seen. He feels slightly anxious when he realizes it’ll only get worse. This is something he hasn’t trained for, there’s no manual to study or simulator to run.
He’s just decided to read, tucked up on the couch, a perfectly normal idea, further away from the seaside windows than may be strictly necessary– he may be a fighter pilot/astronaut, but he’s no fool. This is strictly about mitigating risk.
The roaring is getting louder and he notices there is a lot less beach between the house and the ocean now. He wonders uneasily if he should have gone to base– but he hadn’t been called in and..
He thinks maybe he hears a warning siren now, but it’s awful hard to hear anything about the wind and the rain pelting the roof and windows. This house is one NASA requisitioned - just took over when they built the rest of the base - it stands further out on the key all alone at the end and there is really nothing nearby, which is likely how Kurt wound up with it as his billet.
The lights abruptly go out and frankly he’s surprised the lines didn’t go down sooner. He’s just got a candle lit when the front door blows open, Kurt drenched and panting, slamming it shut behind him.
“The storm is headed right for us. We need to go now. The storm surge is calculated to..it’s going to be massive and we need to not be here when this thing hits. Grab whatever you can’t live without and we should get in the car ASAP.”
Blaine doesn’t really have much in the way of personal effects here – his civilian clothes fit in his duffel, his uniforms in a suitbag, and his few framed photos don’t fill up the cardboard box he’d kept stashed in his closet, so he drops the few books from his shelf.
Kurt is similarly quick to pack, his duffel and boxes already by the door. He snaps the covers over his record player and box of records. “We might as well bring them, we’ve got the room.”
They throw together a box of food - anything that will keep without being refrigerated, canteens of water, some cans of beer.
Less than 10 minutes as passed, but on their dashes out to pack Kurt’s car, Blaine feels like the wind is sucking the air out of his lungs. They jump in the car and set off slowly, the windshield wipers barely able to keep up with the rain, until they reach the end of the beach road.
To the right is towards the base – where they know they probably should go – too many people, too little space, safety and warmth and many distractions.
To the left is – no where in particular, except away from the storm.
Kurt hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks carefully at Blaine. That breathless feeling is back in Blaine’s lungs – he can’t stop looking at Kurt, his lips, his soaked shirt, so perfectly mussed against the fogging windows behind him.
“Where to, Flyboy? The base…” Kurt cocks his head to the right, then the left. “Or…”
“Or.” Blaine’s voice is hoarse. “Definitely or.”
Blaine gulps as Kurt wrinkles his nose in a quiet smile and turns to the left.
***
It’s still slow going, a line of other cars evacuating inland, but at least there’s a paved road. There are patches where it seems the wind is less but the rain is more, and vice versa. Blaine thinks they are outrunning the storm.
“For now,” Kurt cautions. “This one is pretty massive, so unless we drive all night, we’re going to get at least a hell of a storm.
Eventually, Kurt turns off the main highway and makes their way to a lowslung concrete motel at the edge of a small town.
“It’s not going to be great but it’s where I rode out the hurricane three years ago and that one was a more direct hit than this one and it’s likely to still have rooms available because it’s….well.” Kurt pulls in to a parking spot and puts on the hand brake. “Honestly, they usually rent rooms by the hour, but its clean and…it’s clean. That’s about all.”
Blaine licks his lips and makes the split second decision -not- to ask Kurt how he knows about it. Kurt throws his raincoat over his head and dashes to the office, returning in moments.
“We got the last room available. It’s around back.” he dangles the garishly coloured plastic keychain for Blaine to catch before starting the car and easing it around the parking lot.
Blaine grabs his bag and unlocks the door. The room is on the end of the building and “clean” seems to be about the only thing going for it. Tiny, with lurid red carpet and bedspread– and only one bed. Blaine wonders if the bathtub is an option and realizes he doesn’t want to ask because he…wants to be in the bed. And he wants Kurt there too.
Kurt stops in the doorway, rain beginning to pour. “We can…I can… the floor?”
“There’s no room on the floor. It’s really not a big deal – it’ll be like camping!” Blaine has no idea why he said that but Kurt seems to think it makes sense as he kicks the door closed behind him.
It’s getting darker by the second, it seems and Kurt announces he’d like to get out of his wet clothes, rummages in his bag and heads to the tiny bathroom to change before quickly turning around. “I’ll wind up putting my elbow through the door or out the window changing in there.”
They both quickly change out of their clothes, Blaine resolutely not looking at Kurt’s turned back – much. A few glances, that’s it, just to check– he doens’t know what he’s checking but he is noticing Kurt’s muscled back, his broad shoulders and fine line of hair dipping down from his chest to the waistband of his–
Blaine closes his eyes and breathes deeply, steadying himself. When he opens them again, Kurt is sitting with his back against the headboard, shuffling a deck of cards. Blaine piles the pillows behind him and sits down as Kurt deals a hand.
They are halfway through the first game when they begin to hear noises from the room next door.
Whomever it is is having an extremely satisfying, extremely vocal experience on the other side of the wall.
After they both pointedly ignore it for the next few minutes, pretending to be absolutely engrossed in their cards, Blaine decides he’ll take the plunge and be the first to comment.
“Did he just say ‘Oh, Barbara’?”
“Hmmm.” Kurt presses his lips together, amused. “I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t hear a thing.”
A particularly loud and extended howl of pleasure has them both frozen in place, both grinning & embarrassed, just waiting until the silence returns.
“Oh well done, Barbara,” Blaine murmurs as he plays his next card.
“Indeed,” Kurt says gravely, and draws another card.
The wind and rain have been steadily increasing. Kurt gets up and pulls the curtains closed. They start another round of cards.
Barbara and her gentleman caller seem to have started another round as well, her voice, this time, rising and falling in pleasure. Blaine begins to giggle, and Kurt does his best to keep a straight face.
Blaine can’t pretend that he is not acutely aware of Kurt’s every breath and movement, shift of body and sigh. He feels his own breath coming a little faster.
Barbara moans loudly.
“Kenneth? Did she say “Kenneth”?” Kurt whispers.
“I think so,” Blaine studies the cards in his trembling hands.
It’s at that point that the lights go out, Barbara shrieks and Kurt begins to laugh. The room is absolutely and entirely pitch black.
“Well, I guess cards is over,” Blaine sighs. Their fingers brush a few times as they both try to gather the deck back together. The cards thump to the floor as Blaine tries to place them on the nightstand and misses.
They lie down, ramrod straight, next to each other, not touching at all and listen to the rain and the wind howling outside.
Kurt clears his throat and says “it’s lucky Kate’s plane took off when it did – she’s home already by now, right?”
Blaine nods, then realizes it’s so dark, Kurt can’t possibly have seen. “She’s…home now, with her parents for a few days.”
One of the very last things on earth Blaine wants to talk about right now is his wife – though her acceptance and understanding and insight does give him strength. If only he could be as sure of Kurt’s feelings – and his own – as she had been.
Something smashes into the side of the building outside and they both startle, hands flying out towards each other. Kurt grabs Blaine’s fingers and holds them. Blaine doesn’t let go. Blind in the total darkness, wind like he’s never heard before, holding Kurt’s hand – he’s determined not to let go - not unless Kurt lets go first.
“She’s– ummm, Kate, she’s going to Paris soon,” he starts. “She’s always wanted to go and…” he trails off.
“That sounds lovely,” Kurt doesn’t let go of his fingers.
“She has…she says she has some things to figure out – we both do.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Blaine sighs. “A good thing, I think.” He takes a chance and strokes his thumb on the back of Kurt’s hand. “I hope–”
The bed shifts as Kurt rolls on his side, now facing Blaine, still holding his hands. “Blaine, I–”
A loud moan from the other room, and Kurt stops to chuckle.
“Oh well done, Kenneth,” Blaine murmurs and they both dissolve into giggles.
Blaine rolls to face Kurt. Kurt’s thumb gently rubs against his.
Barbara and Kenneth’s growing passion blends in with the storm. Blaine is certain he will happily lie here for days, holding Kurt’s hand.
Barbara is getting louder now, clearly very much enjoying herself and Blaine can’t help but begin to imagine flushed skin and mounting tension, red lips and eyes hazy with desire. Kurt’s eyes.
He’s not certain of moving, or of Kurt moving either, but suddenly he can feel Kurt’s breath on his face and his whole body feels like he’s going to vibrate away, every atom in his skin alive and trembling at the nearness of Kurt. He wants to reach out his other hand to touch to feel to know.
Kurt huffs a quick laugh. “Well, now, that’s intriguing.” and Blaine is about to ask when he hears another, different voice in the other room, low and rumbling.
A slow thud against the wall begins and Blaine feels Kurt’s gentle fingertips slip up to find his neck, trace down to his collar bone, leaving a trail of want heat desire and Blaine thinks he has never been so turned on his life, just from the brush of Kurt’s fingers.
Maybe Blaine moved, maybe it was Kurt but suddenly, Blaine feels the heat of Kurt’s face near his and is about to close the distance to bring their lips together when three things happen in quick succession.
1 - the thumping of the headboard increases in intensity
2 - the voice they knew as Kenneth moaned “oh god, yes, George” and
3 a low and breathy moan from Kurt went straight down through Blaine all the way down to his toes.
Kurt has surged forward, his cheek just lightly rubbing against Blaine.
“Please,” he whispers. “Please tell me this is what you want.”
“You,” Blaine whispers back, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Kurt’s neck and crushing their mouths together. “You are what I want”
Blaine whimpers at the taste of him, at the heat and strength of Kurt’s body pressing him down into the pillows, down into the bed, with the sounds of the wind at the windows, the sounds of all three people next door, the sounds Kurt is making and the sounds Kurt is making -him- make – in the dark, Blaine’s world goes quiet, as every fiber in his being understands – this. This is how it’s supposed to feel. This is what is should be.
This.
Him.
***
Later, Blaine doesn’t know what time it is, but the wind has quieted, the rain dimmed to a hard patter and a slash of lightening sky through the break in the curtains illuminates Kurt’s face just enough for Blaine to be able to kiss him gently on the nose as he lies on Blaine’s chest, Kurt’s chin propped on his arm.
Kurt starts to say something, then pauses. Starts again. “Should we…do we need to talk about anything?”
Blaine licks his lips, clears his throat and tries to decide what words will make their way out of his blissed out mind. “I don’t know if I can currently find a coherent thought in my brain, but I’ll give my best shot to anything you want to talk about.”
Kurt chuckles. “Lack of bloodflow to the brain, pooling in the extremities.”
Blaine clenches all his muscles and releases them, several times over - the same procedure he has to make in order not to black out when he’s in a jet pulling a highspeed turn. He bounces Kurt gently with each contraction.
“Hmmm. We can discuss -that- in detail a bit later,” Kurt murmurs.
Kurt lays his hand on Blaine’s chest. “Will there be a later?”
Blaine’s eyes snap open. “Do you want there to be?”
Kurt smiles, a bit sadly. “I think I do. But I also….I also want to know what this– who you– how–”
Blaine curls to kiss Kurt’s forehead, and now suddenly he knows exactly what he wants to say.
“This is the first time my mind has slowed down, Kurt. The first time in my life, I have felt peaceful. I’m perfectly content to lie here with you until the cows come home. My mind isn’t rushing, or worrying, or tracking, or thinking seven jumps ahead. I’m here with you like this and maybe I’m supposed to be having a crisis, but I’m not. I just…-am-.”
“But you’re married,” Kurt blurts out.
“Katie is on her way to live in on another continent, and who knows if she’ll ever come back. I honestly hope, for her sake, that she doesn’t. She is meant for bigger things than being a shadow, being one step behind her husband, and that is all anyone has ever expected of her.”
He pauses. “Except me. It’s always been her and I against the world. I want her to have the life she deserves, and that is not back in Ohio with our families, kowtowing to her mother, yes mother no mother and drinking through garden parties and enduring the little ice pick stabs of genteel breeding.”
He swallows hard. “And it’s not here with me, waiting and waiting and shriveling away while she waits to see if I make it home or I wind up a burning smudge on a tarmac somewhere.”
Kurt closes his eyes and shakes his head, willing that awful picture away.
“Sorry,” Blaine shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “Kate’s the one who… she told me – she saw you and me together and she -knew-. She saw that I was happy in a way she’d never seen me happy before, and she told me I should–”
He breaks off and squirms
“You should what?” Kurt whispers
“Talk to you. And kiss you and–”
Kurt interrupts him with a gentle kiss.
“Will there be a later?” Blaine asks him, quietly.
“All the laters you want,” Kurt kisses him again and all serious conversation fades away to quiet laughter, murmured endearments, silly whispers, breathless mouths and gasping adoration.
Blaine sprinted between obstacles, dragging Kurt behind, ducking them behind posts and into doorways of buildings as they made their way across the base, bullets from the enemy planes spraying all around them.A loud whine from nearby, then a choking sputter, and Kurt could see one – or maybe three or four – smaller planes taxiing to the runway.Blaine glanced up as they took off. “Good. Joe’s up. George, Tommy – good, that’s good,” he muttered.He took another deep breath, squeezed Kurt’s ha
OH WOW!! So, for those of you who weren’t around back in the day, this is from my fic, Right Here Waiting, a WWII AU where Blaine is a bomber pilot and Kurt is a USO singer. This is nearer the end of the fic, when they are at Blaine’s airbase somewhere in England, and it is currently being bombed and strafed by the Luftwaffe.
This was one of the easiest sections to write, because it was all playing like a movie in my head. The hardest part was giving enough details so that the reader could see it, too, without slowing down the pacing - I needed it to be urgent and chaotic, but still very readable.
So, at this point, Blaine has gone all business. They were off having a lovely private reunion, and all the sudden the Luftwaffe small advance fighters fly overhead. It’s a semi-regular occurence, so Blaine knows he needs to a) get Kurt to safety and b) get back to his plane, the Teenage Dream, to also get it to safety. (It’s easier to win an air battle if you can keep your enemy’s planes from ever leaving the ground.) So, the Luftwaffe fighters are strafing the ground (shooting bullets at the ground without really aiming at anything in particular) to hopefully keep the pilots and crews from reaching the planes that could take down the bombers that are also on their way. Blaine’s got to get Kurt back to HQ for him to be the safest (it’ll be the closest thing to a bomb shelter they have on base) and then get himself to the Dream so they can get it off the ground. At this point, the bombers have to play hide and seek with the Luftwaffe, because although they do have machine guns for defense, they are not very manoueverable in the air and are no good in a “dog fight” air battle, but can still be shot down. They rely on the fighters to keep them safe, so they are getting off the ground so they are no longer sitting duck targets for the Luftwaffe bombers, but are going to try to keep away from the battle and hope the Allied fighters keep the Luftwaffe fighters busy and away from them.
Kurt is terrified, but also rather in awe of Blaine and his calm and cool attitude. He’s happy to put his life in Blaine’s hands. It’s actually pretty damn sexy, but Kurt doesn’t realize that until later. In actuality, Kurt should be hearing the whines and the sputtering happening concurrently - plane engines sputter as they start up (and whine), but there are so many of them he’d be hearing it all at oncee.
The smaller planes taxiing are the advance fighters heading up to defend the base and try to give the bombers time to get airborne. I couldn’t decide if they are Spitfires or P38 Lightnings, and the reason that Blaine looks up and names the pilots - one name, then two names, is because I was writing so quickly that I didn’t feel there was time to stop and research, and though I am a huge huge huuuuuge plane nerd, I couldn’t remember if those planes were a one-seat or a two-seat and felt I wanted to cover my bases either way. (I doubt anyone else noticed, but it was super important to me.) As a pilot, and being the nice Blaine guy that he is, Blaine would, of course, know all the names of all the pilots, and so he’s glad to see his friends have already taken off because a) then they are safer than being on the ground, but also b) they’re excellent fighter pilots. He’d be able to recognize the individual nose art - fighters had nose art just like the bombers - Blaine’s plane, the Teenage Dream, has an Alberto Vargas-esque pin-up, but with Kurt’s face. Like this:
Here’s the link to the fic in case anyone wants to read it! (all parts have a link to the next one, or you can find them under “my stories” on my blog.
author: Knittywriter
Notes: Welcome to my love-letter to Eurovision, and the Eurovision-watching experience. Please note, this story does not actually make sense -- WELCOME TO EUROVISION! If this leaves you thinking a) I’m not drunk enough for this to make sense, b) what the hell is going on here or c) I have no idea what’s going on in this story but I feel like singing along loudly -- now you, too, have experienced what it’s like to watch Eurovision.
this was scribbled down this morning, un-beta’d, with the love and support of doodlebrew who helped me write some of the lyrics to both songs and with general plotting, and vampireisabitstrong for being my fellow Eurovision-watching lover-of-the-ridiculous.
**********
″And now, representing his home country of Daltonervia in the 2017 Eurovision Song Contest, Kurt Hummel will perform his song ″Gas Pump.″ The overly-cheerful Eurovision official announced, in English.
″I heard this was well-received in the semi-final round,″ Sue Sylvester, the commentator for the American tv stations, dryly intones. ″Lots of fan support, lots of people talking about it.″
″There certainly was a lot of talk about it, Sue,″ Sebastian Smythe, her fellow announcer says. ″And also about the young Mr. Hummel. He's been a fan favorite. Let's see if he can live up to the hype.″
″I have my doubts, but we’ll see.”
The lights flicker, then black out, rising up again to show just simple spotlight focused on Kurt, perching on a stool. He's wearing all black, his shirt covered in black sequins, so that he's positively glimmering in the light. Candles and mirrors are lit all around him.
All I ever knew, he sings soulfully, was blazing sun and darkened skies,
″Another ballad,″ Sue sniffs. ″How ground-breaking.″
Men use me and pass me by, never staying the night
″Nice sultry introduction. I feel like maybe I'm at a jazz club and maybe this is a torch song. I like it.″ Sebastian says
But you, you needed me, you squeezed me, you loved me
″Ella Fitzgerald, he is not,″ Sue states. ″But maybe he'll improve.″
And now, I'm yoooooooooooooours. The lights flash brilliantly, as a heavy techno dance beat kicks in
I'm your gas pump, baby. A glitter cannon explodes, spraying the stage and the audience with rainbow colored confetti. Kurt jumps off his stool and prances around the stage, with several sequined clad very energetic back-up singers blow out the candles, then dancing around him. Lights flash in dizzying patterns.
All I need is for you to pump-a pump me
″What the hell--″ Sebastian begins
I'm your gas pump baby.
″These lyrics must translate into Daltonervish as something else,″ Sebastian sounds confused.
″Ah, yes, Daltonervish,″ Sue sounds chipper, like she's beginning to narrate on a tour bus. ″Often described as one part Portugeuse, one part Ukranian and one part Louisiana Creole, Daltonervish is a language rich with history, culture and at least 97 irregular verbs with 17 separate forms of verb conjugation.″
Don't avert your face, baby, you can breathe my fumes
It's all that I'll ever be, it's all that I'll ever need
I'm your gas pump, baby
″And our research intern has just informed me that despite all evidence to the contrary, this song was actually written in English, by a native English speaker,″ Sebastian offers, smoothly.
″The writer should be reported to a military tribunal, because this is an assault on the ears, the senses and the very souls of every single person in the international community,″ Sue sneers. ″I've got my friend and former lover Stormin' Norman on speed dial, if this travesty doesn't end soon.″
Diesel, unleaded, you can have your choice
Pump me, oh pump me, let me hear your voice
I never knew what a love like yours could do,
When I give it to you naturally, the flame we make is blue
Cher is just rolling over in her grave. ″ Sue asserted.
″Cher isn't dead.″
″I beg to differ.″
Don't light a match, I'm too combustible
Burning hot, when you say my name
Oh, you can try to blow me, but baby, I'm so dangerous
Monoammonium Phosphate is the only way to quench this
flaaaaaaaaaame.
″Somewhere, Donna Summer just vomited,″ Sue states.
I'm combustible, (so combustible)
I'll ignite your static spark,
Give it to me in the dark,
Let me see you in the light,
Watch all your pumping ignite me
″Gloria Gaynor called, she wants you NOT to survive,″ Sue sneers.
″I don't know, Sue, I'm beginning to enjoy this. It's peppy, it's upbeat,″ Sebastian laughs as three more glitter cannons go off, dousing the crowd, who roar in excitement. ″It's catchy, you know?″
″You know what else is catchy? Herpes.″ Sue snorts.
'Cause I'm your gas pump, baby
All I need is for you to pump-a pump me,
I'm your gas pump, baby
Don't avert your face, you can breathe my fumes
It's all that I'll ever be, it's all that I'll ever need.
I'm your gas pump.
″Thank god that's over,″ Sue says, over a quiet clinking sound of a bottle neck tapping a glass. ″They did not provide enough booze, if we've got 13 more songs like that to get to.″
″Ha ha haaa,″ Sebastian says nervously into his microphone. ″And of course, by booze, Sue really means Pepsi, the Choice of the New Generation, and our official sponsor of the 2017 Eurovision Song Contest.″
***************************************
″And now, representing his home country of Klaine in the 2018 Eurovision Song Contest, here's Blaine Anderson, performing ″Tomorrow Is Just Beyond That Rainbow.″
The stage lights flash, revealing Blaine Anderson, wearing a ripped t-shirt, brown leather lederhosen, long wool socks and black biker boots. He's surrounded by 6 old women, wearing traditional Klainish head scarves, and long colorful dresses, and his 5 piece band, wearing similarly traditional Klainish clothing, with modern twists.
″Oh look, peasants,″ Sue sneers.
″Agreed,″ Kurt Hummel snorts. ″The only way this could be any more hipster is if he had a man-bun.″
The song starts with Blaine playing an acoustic guitar intro. Pictures of doves, peace symbols, kittens playing, babies laughing begin to pan across the huge screens at the back of the stage.
″Snore,″ Kurt says. ″When will people learn you just don't win Eurovision with a ballad?″
Blaine begins to sing into the microphone, his darkly eye-linered eyes looking earnestly into the camera panning around him.
We stand, united, a world of hope and peace
″Well, isn't that nice,″ Sue sneers. ″How original, a song about world peace and love.″
Kurt snorts.
We stand proud, we stand tall, we stand together
Because tomorrow is just beyond that rainbow
The grannies shuffle around him in some simple choreography, beaming at him, their skirts swaying gently. Blaine repeats the verse, quietly but building energy.
″49 seconds in, and I'm already bored,″ Sue yawns. The sounds of liquids being poured in a glass can be faintly heard from the broadcast booth.
″Hey no fair keeping that all to yourself, Sue,″ Kurt mutters, barely audible, then gets louder ″Even if the singer is particularly gorgeous, this song is just snores-ville. Why won't they ever learn, the voting public want drama, and energy and glitter cannons.″
Suddenly, Blaine's gently earnest face turns to a grimace, as his band's guitarist begins snarling electric power chords, the song shifting to a heavy metal power anthem.
And we will burn all barriers down, he belts, his voice carrying over the sudden smoke explosions onstage
No hatred will be left
Fog begins rolling as men wearing flowing black satin capes burst through the screens at the back of the stage, rollerskating towards the band, brandishing lit torches. They begin setting the screens on fire.
″Now that, I did not see coming,″ Sue says.
″Finally! Here's the real Eurovision! Here's what we've been waiting for!″ Kurt crows.
No war, no abuse, only togetherness, Blaine's voice soars.
″Wait, are they vampires?″ Kurt's voice cracks with excitement. ″With those fake teeth? Are my eyes deceiving me, or are those rollerskating pyromaniac vampires? And now they're setting the instruments on fire, this is amazing!″
Only love all across the world
The dancing grannies whip off their headscarves and robes, revealing themselves to be attractive buxom women in low-cut push-up dirndls. The rollerskaters whip off their capes, displaying chisled muscular men wearing nothing but patent leather briefs, who continue skating around and around.
because tomorrow is just beyond that rainbow
″I didn't see that coming, either,″ Sue says. ″What in the blessed name of George Herbert Walker Bush is going on here?″
″Exquisiteness, that's what's going on here, Sue,″ Kurt is nearly babbling. ″I've never seen a more perfect Eurovision performance.″
The former grannies begin passionately making out with each other, the rollerskating vampires clutching at one another, also kissing fervently. One former-granny and one vampire slide to Blaine's feet, and begin twining themselves around his legs, writhing in an orgiastic frenzy, their hands sliding up and down his whole body.
No war, no abuse, only togetherness,
″Between that guy giving practically giving him a good old HJ right there on the stage, and the woman licking his thighs, I can't decide which team this guy is interested in playing for, if you catch my drift″ Sue says drily. ″But what I'm interested for this song to be over, and completely wiped from my memory by any means necessary.″
Only love, all across the world
″Can you get in touch with this guy's agent?″ Kurt's voice sounds distant, as if he's leaning away from it to talk to someone nearby. ″Can you ask them about maybe a private interview for later tonight, whether he wins or not? Maybe over drinks?″
because tomorrow is just beyond that rainbow
As Blaine holds the final soaring note, explosions all over the arena, covering the audience and the stage with glittering confetti and rainbow-striped streamers.
″Wow, what a performance,″ Kurt is back as the crowd goes absolutely berserk with applause and cheering. ″Such an incredible performance. It's like he had a checklist for the Eurovision High Holy Requirements: glitter bombs, world peace and togetherness, and plenty of LBGTQ pride. Extra points awarded for the artistic beginning, the scantily-clad men and women and the dubious taste of it all. It had tackiness, kitsch, and sparkles. He's a shoe-in for the win.″
A Series Of Texts About Life, Sex and IKEA cardboard boxes
based on a real-life experience. I just had to write it up into a fic.
To girliesportsjunkie who has a thing for IKEA fic. And to iconicklaine because I nearly had to call her in howling tears of laughter for moral support.
*****
Can you hear that,Kurt?
All I can hear right now is the sound of Clothide haranguing a customer, in French. She doesn't care that we're in Raleigh today.
This is the sound of me giving up.
Blaine.
I give up, Kurt.
What are you giving up?
Everything. Sex for Lent, carbs, and any semblance of a belief that I am fully functional adult biped human.
…
These IKEA cardboard boxes are ridiculous, Kurt.
You are so fucking overdramatic sometimes, Blaine.
You look at them, and you think ″oh, so easy. So simple. So quick and painless.″
You do realize that I'm working right now.
You're in desperate need of a break, and you need to know that you'll be coming home in a week to a shredded bloodied pulp of a disturbed and distraught husband.
Drama queen.
You have no idea, Kurt. You just don't know.
Are you okay?
Aside from feeling like a dolt because I was baffled by the construction of a cardboard box, I have several papercuts.
Oh honey.
Cardboard papercuts, Kurt.
Put some antibacterial stuff on it, stay away from lemon juice or pickles and you'll be fine, baby.
The instructions are ridiculous.
Blaine, they're pictograms. How can they be ridiculous?
Step one: put these instructions facedown on the floor.
Then how are you supposed to know what step two is?
EXACTLY MY POINT!
You figured it out eventually, though?
Yes.
Good.
But I'm not telling you how long it took me.
Baby...
Ridiculously long. Obnoxiously long.
Sorry, love.
Longer than I lasted when you gave me a handjob that first time.
Oh my. Well, that was about quality, not quantity.
That's very kind of you to say so.
I mean, I'll admit I was very surprised about how far it flew.
I said I was sorry.
Who knew it would make me look like I had pink eye for the rest of the week?
Not me.
But, seriously, you're okay?
Aside from a seriously bruised ego, yes. I'm fine.
I'll be home in 6 days, love. Then we will have three days of hellish packing before the movers arrive and then we'll be in our new home. In Paris!
I know. I have the living room almost finished.
You're a god for doing this by yourself, and there will be sexual favors to show my appreciation.
I'm counting on it.
So....you were just joking about giving up sex for Lent, right?
{incoming video call from: Blaine}
″Totally joking. See?″
″Jesus christ, Blaine, you need to warn me beforehand so I can get somewhere private because Clothide and Francesca just both saw your dick...″
