Life is Messy [7/?]
Blaine Anderson-Stark is starting to realise that you should really get to know your boyfriend when Superhero stuff hangs in the balance.
Mystique is a busy woman. She has people to see and strings to pull. Just last week some light bright, acid trip alien couple tried to rent an apartment in her building. Criminals do not live in her building. Business and Leisure should be separate. And if that means Mystique has to personally screen every potential tenant to her building, well it’s a small price to pay. Also, she has people to take care of those things for her. One such person has been scurrying after her like a rat for the past ten minutes simpering. The two of them are pushing through the busy streets of New York to get to lunch reservations. Mystique’s reservations, held under the name Jasmine, her assistant could join if she had interesting news.
“We are three yards from the restaurant. If you have something to say, say it now.”
“S.H.I.E.L.D. has contacted your nephew.”
Mystique stops short and only years of experience kept her assistant from running into her. The busy, faceless people of New York split around them and pushed past without a second glance. It was something she loved about this city. No one looked twice, at anything. She slowly turned to face her assistant, her heels grinding slowly on the spot. A cigarette butt was stuck under one.
“Was he harmed?”
“Harmed? I suppose.” Mystique’s hair flared red at the scalp for a split second and her assistant backed away. “It was all a misunderstanding. He has a bruise I think. But otherwise he’s fine.”
“A bruise? A misunderstanding? Tell me, how does an organization such as S.H.I.E.L.D. accidentally injure someone under their own protection?”
“I…I’m not entirely sure Ma’am. I believe it had something to do with Stark’s boy.”
“Stark’s boy? Around Kurt’s age I suppose?” She turned again, swiftly on her heels, without another word to her assistant. She continued on her way to the restaurant, her slate black hair flying back in the wind. Her assistant trailed after her, a hand on her heart in relief. The extra few seconds Mystique spent holding open the door was as close to a welcome invitation as she’d get.
By the time lunch rolls around Kurt is fit to be seen in public again and the rain outside has long since cleared up. He pulls himself down to the lunch hall and sits with the boarding warblers. Kurt smiles and eats, gossips, and teases Trent about his mother henning. No one suspects he’s any different than he was the day before. No one knows that Kurt spent the morning running a groove into the track. No one knows he’s a powerful mutant with even more powerful allies. Just like nobody knows Blaine Anderson is really Blaine Anderson-Stark. It’s a little overwhelming to see things from the other side.
There were a select few on campus, mostly faculty, that knew who he really was. On occasion, usually when he was doing something he knew a father would not approve of but something his father would probably laugh over, he wondered what they thought of his secret life. He thought about how odd it must be to know something so secretive and wonder when the boot would drop. Know he knows. And it’s not a feeling he likes. Blaine feels itchy, like Kurt’s casting illusions of bugs under his polo. Anything he sees that seems even remotely out of place, a water stained spoon, two flys chasing each other, a group of shriveled grapes, they all seem like things that Kurt has put there. But then he sees Kurt smiling along with the warblers and pushes the thought away.
Kurt had made it obvious that morning that he was uncomfortable with his powers. It would be ludicrous to assume that Kurt used them willy-nilly around the dinning hall. It was eye opening really. Early in their friendship Kurt confessed his fear of being seen by his classmates. He said that he felt his secrets were his most valued treasure, that if the kids at McKinley didn’t know much about him then anything they said could be plausibly denied. He was bitter too, that no one saw the obvious. And that bitterness melted into contentment when he realized it wouldn’t cause his father stress. Blaine learned early on that Kurt had a penchant for feeling way too much all the time. He was a mess inside. Blaine tried to take it one day at a time with him, one step at a time. Now Kurt’s insecurity and secrecy made sense. It was trust issues, as Blaine suspected, but not so much over his sexuality. It made Blaine’s head spin, like he was listening to his father lecture on particle physics.
Confusion aside, Blaine rather liked knowing Kurt’s big secret. When they started dating he always felt this niggling sense of guilt deep in his gut about hiding who he was. Now he felt like he was on level ground. With this new revelation Blaine didn’t have to spend late nights worrying that Kurt’s fierce determination and bravery would disappear in the face of an alien invasion or terrorists. Kurt had his own big, bad, scary family friends waiting in the wings.
“Earth to Anderson. Blaaaaaiiiiine Anderson.” David was leaning across Kurt’s back, who was leaning forward into his salad laughing quietly. “I wanted to know what your plans were for our couch.”
“Mmm. The couch in the Warbler commons that you routinely hop all over. We were just telling Kurt about that time you fell asleep and started—“
“I was not,” here Blaine leans forward and lowers his voice, “humping the couch. I was lying on a calculator. I was trying to adjust.”
“Adjusting your junk.” When Blaine squawks David pulls back and points his fork over at Thad who is hiding his laughter with a look of severe constipation. “Thad mentioned it’s the same couch you always jump on and lie across in performances so we were all just wondering if Kurt would some day have to learn to share with The Couch.”
“All of you are ridiculous.”
“Now Blaine, lets be honest. Are you having intimate relations with The Couch?” Kurt is looking at him with a look of sincere concern with a handful of Warbler’s looking over his shoulder laughing openly. Blaine turns back to his plate and viciously stabs at his chicken salad.
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- roguebowtie said:Dangerous Friends. The Couch *giggles uproariously*
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