Title: Broken Rules
Author:![[info]]()
prosopopeya
Rating: PG
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Mike/Blaine.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: For a fic about fight club, there's an awful lot of talking about Fight Club.
Word Count: 1551
Notes: This is for![[info]]()
msmoocow, but also for myself.
Broken Rules
“Hey.” Blaine plops into the seat beside Mike in the dining hall, breathless and a little sweaty. “How are you doing?” It’s like he put a pause button on his obvious distraction; his smile grows wide and in a blink his eyes turn from something pensive to something caring, interested and concerned.
Mike should be used to it by now; the friendship they started back at McKinley’s only grown since Blaine wound up at Mike’s same college. Being an insta-friend, he showed Blaine around his first semester, advised him on who to take and who to avoid for this semester, and they even share an art history class. They get dinner together more often than not, when Blaine’s not hanging around with a gang of drama majors.
Mike’s actually been gearing up to ask Blaine if he wants to be roommates next year. He knows Blaine’ll say yes, of course, and normally he wouldn’t hesitate at all, except this first year of his he’s had at college has been… well, a learning experience. Being in the dance department, he landed in the company of people who don’t have much personal space issues, and naturally some of them run along the homosexual side of the fence. That’s fine with Mike, still is fine with Mike, only after a few drunken parties turned vague orgies, he’s come to realize that he’s not as straight as he thought he was.
Again, that’s fine with Mike—not fine with his parents, who are blissfully unaware, and he’d like to keep them that way—but he’s still trying to figure out if living with Blaine would be a smart thing or a stupid thing because he kind of, um, really likes the dewy-doey thing his eyes do when he asks you how you are like he really, actually, genuinely cares about you.
Tina was like that too; he misses her, feels a little guilty for the way his mouth dries up around Blaine, but actually he’s about 99.9% sure this would be fine with her, too. She’s the one that suggested they see other people while Mike’s at college and she’s at a different one, especially after Mike started talking to her about his new self-discoveries. They still talk on facebook chat—actually she’s the only person he can stand to talk to on facebook chat.
So basically this is why Mike’s mouth goes dry when Blaine tips his smile at him.
“Good,” he answers a little stiffly, and he shoves food into his mouth. “Sup?”
“I’m planning something,” he says with a playful squint of his eyes, and his ridiculous eyebrows form an even more ridiculous shape on his forehead. Mike likes to focus on Blaine’s eyebrows because they’re kind of stupid looking, but the danger is that he winds up admiring Blaine’s eyelashes—they’re right there after all.
“Oh?” he suavely offers, and he sets his fork down. “Is it another a cappella ambush? Because I told you—I’d join if I had the time, but I don’t, not with the dance crew.”
“No,” he says, laughing. When he shakes his head, Mike can see the way he’s combed his hair artfully and applied what’s probably an entire bottle of hair gel. It was seriously hours ago that he must’ve done it, but he doesn’t think Blaine’s hair has even considered moving in the time since. “No, but it is an extracurricular you should consider taking up.”
Before Mike can protest, he leans over and puts his mouth near Mike’s ear, and Mike clamps his mouth shut before he does something stupid like squeak.
“I’m starting up a fight club,” he murmurs, and he glances at Mike’s face to see his reaction before he continues, but Mike’s not sure what he managed to take away from his face because Mike’s brain is just fuzzy static. “Basement of Haley dorm, tonight, 10 o’clock. Don’t tell a soul.”
He draws away, and Mike quickly attempts to school his expression out of what’s undoubtedly shining, radiant lust over the idea of Blaine, all sweaty and a little bloody and grinning with a kind of wicked heat in his eyes. Okay, so maybe Mike’s watched Fight Club a few times since he’s come around to liking guys.
“And don’t even think about not coming.”
And then he’s gone, patting the table once before he grabs his bag and disappears from the lunch room, and Mike gapes after him. He can still smell Blaine’s hair gel.
Five minutes later, he pulls out his phone and texts his roommate.
Out late tonight, sorry. We’ll catch So You Think You Can Dance on a rerun.
~
Mike swipes into the dorm and has to ask someone how to get to the basement, which he hopes doesn’t qualify as telling someone, but they seemed pretty uninterested anyway.
He tries not to think about how creepy this is—reminds himself that at least he can do a dance off with a zombie if need be—as he descends the stairs into a semi-dark expanse that seems to only be lit by the light that hangs above the staircase and a lamp in the farthest corner.
“Um,” he says, reaching the foot of the stairs. “Hi?”
It’s just Blaine, standing on a gym mat and wearing a wife beater, and Mike tries and fails not to notice how sexy he looks. His hair, too, seems to have become a little more ungelled in the time since dinner, and Blaine’s curls are just starting to make themselves known along his forehead.
“Hi,” he answers sweetly, and Mike’s stomach flips strangely. He makes his way into the room, looking around, but yeah—there’s definitely no one else here, and he gives Blaine a skeptical look.
“Are you secretly a serial killer who lures unsuspecting sophomores into creepy basements?”
Blaine laughs again, huskily, and reaches out to Mike. “Just come here.”
He complies, of course, because he trusts Blaine even when he looks like a freshman serial killer in a semi-dark basement. He’s surprised when Blaine actually takes his hand, pulling him onto the gym mat with him, and then he and Blaine are close enough that he can smell Blaine’s shower gel.
“So I sort of lied when I said this wasn’t an ambush,” Blaine starts, and at Mike’s raised eyebrow, he continues. “The Bubs aren’t going to leap out at you and draw you into an impromptu rendition of ‘Drumming Song,’ but…”
He trails off and looks away, biting his lip, and it’s hard to tell because it’s dark, but Mike would almost swear that he’s blushing. And then he looks up at Mike from underneath those stupid caterpillar eyebrows, but then Mike just sees eyelashes, and he almost doesn’t notice that Blaine’s leaning in until there are lips against his.
He doesn’t really react because he’s still not sure what’s going on—semidark basement, wife beater, creepy gym mats… Is this something worthy of Dateline NBC…? So when Blaine pulls away and looks disappointed, Mike isn’t that surprised.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I must’ve misunderstood.” He drops Mike’s hand and starts to pull away, but Mike reaches out to his arm, stopping him.
“No, wait. Just—what is going on?” Mike gestures around at the basement, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “What’s with the pedo setting?”
Blaine laughs, though it’s a little bitter, and that goes straight through Mike because Blaine’s never bitter like that unless something’s wrong. “That was Tina. She told me that you have a thing for Brad Pitt in Fight Club. It was stupid.”
Only that doesn’t actually explain anything, and Mike shakes his head. “You’re going to have to try that one again.”
“Really, this whole thing was Tina’s idea. I wanted to surprise you with flowers and take you swing dancing, but Tina said this would be hotter,” Blaine says with a sigh, and he tries a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. Like I said, I think I just misunderstood. I thought,” and here he stops and shakes his head, sheepish, “I thought you liked me as much as I like you. It’s okay, though. No hard feelings, I hope?”
Blaine might still be waiting for Mike to say something like no hard feelings, bro, let’s go get some pizza when Mike launches himself forward and kisses Blaine with the passion he was lacking when he was still trying to figure out if Blaine was a sexual predator. Blaine manages to respond after a moment of surprise, his arms coming up around Mike’s back and holding him close.
When they break apart, Mike starts laughing, leaning back in Blaine’s embrace.
“What?” Blaine asks, humor in his voice, and his hands lightly stroke the small of Mike’s back because of course Blaine is the kind of person to lightly stroke the small of your back.
Mike comes up shaking his head, smiling broadly.
“I’m pretty sure at some point we’re going to have to have a threeway with my ex-girlfriend. I hope you’re okay with that.”
Blaine’s laugh is more like a throaty chuckle, and he cups the back of Mike’s neck, pulling him closer.
“She already warned me about that,” he murmurs before they decide to leave the talking aside for a little while.
Author:
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/user_ontd.gif?v=92.5)
prosopopeyaRating: PG
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Mike/Blaine.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: For a fic about fight club, there's an awful lot of talking about Fight Club.
Word Count: 1551
Notes: This is for
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.5)
msmoocow, but also for myself. “Hey.” Blaine plops into the seat beside Mike in the dining hall, breathless and a little sweaty. “How are you doing?” It’s like he put a pause button on his obvious distraction; his smile grows wide and in a blink his eyes turn from something pensive to something caring, interested and concerned.
Mike should be used to it by now; the friendship they started back at McKinley’s only grown since Blaine wound up at Mike’s same college. Being an insta-friend, he showed Blaine around his first semester, advised him on who to take and who to avoid for this semester, and they even share an art history class. They get dinner together more often than not, when Blaine’s not hanging around with a gang of drama majors.
Mike’s actually been gearing up to ask Blaine if he wants to be roommates next year. He knows Blaine’ll say yes, of course, and normally he wouldn’t hesitate at all, except this first year of his he’s had at college has been… well, a learning experience. Being in the dance department, he landed in the company of people who don’t have much personal space issues, and naturally some of them run along the homosexual side of the fence. That’s fine with Mike, still is fine with Mike, only after a few drunken parties turned vague orgies, he’s come to realize that he’s not as straight as he thought he was.
Again, that’s fine with Mike—not fine with his parents, who are blissfully unaware, and he’d like to keep them that way—but he’s still trying to figure out if living with Blaine would be a smart thing or a stupid thing because he kind of, um, really likes the dewy-doey thing his eyes do when he asks you how you are like he really, actually, genuinely cares about you.
Tina was like that too; he misses her, feels a little guilty for the way his mouth dries up around Blaine, but actually he’s about 99.9% sure this would be fine with her, too. She’s the one that suggested they see other people while Mike’s at college and she’s at a different one, especially after Mike started talking to her about his new self-discoveries. They still talk on facebook chat—actually she’s the only person he can stand to talk to on facebook chat.
So basically this is why Mike’s mouth goes dry when Blaine tips his smile at him.
“Good,” he answers a little stiffly, and he shoves food into his mouth. “Sup?”
“I’m planning something,” he says with a playful squint of his eyes, and his ridiculous eyebrows form an even more ridiculous shape on his forehead. Mike likes to focus on Blaine’s eyebrows because they’re kind of stupid looking, but the danger is that he winds up admiring Blaine’s eyelashes—they’re right there after all.
“Oh?” he suavely offers, and he sets his fork down. “Is it another a cappella ambush? Because I told you—I’d join if I had the time, but I don’t, not with the dance crew.”
“No,” he says, laughing. When he shakes his head, Mike can see the way he’s combed his hair artfully and applied what’s probably an entire bottle of hair gel. It was seriously hours ago that he must’ve done it, but he doesn’t think Blaine’s hair has even considered moving in the time since. “No, but it is an extracurricular you should consider taking up.”
Before Mike can protest, he leans over and puts his mouth near Mike’s ear, and Mike clamps his mouth shut before he does something stupid like squeak.
“I’m starting up a fight club,” he murmurs, and he glances at Mike’s face to see his reaction before he continues, but Mike’s not sure what he managed to take away from his face because Mike’s brain is just fuzzy static. “Basement of Haley dorm, tonight, 10 o’clock. Don’t tell a soul.”
He draws away, and Mike quickly attempts to school his expression out of what’s undoubtedly shining, radiant lust over the idea of Blaine, all sweaty and a little bloody and grinning with a kind of wicked heat in his eyes. Okay, so maybe Mike’s watched Fight Club a few times since he’s come around to liking guys.
“And don’t even think about not coming.”
And then he’s gone, patting the table once before he grabs his bag and disappears from the lunch room, and Mike gapes after him. He can still smell Blaine’s hair gel.
Five minutes later, he pulls out his phone and texts his roommate.
Out late tonight, sorry. We’ll catch So You Think You Can Dance on a rerun.
Mike swipes into the dorm and has to ask someone how to get to the basement, which he hopes doesn’t qualify as telling someone, but they seemed pretty uninterested anyway.
He tries not to think about how creepy this is—reminds himself that at least he can do a dance off with a zombie if need be—as he descends the stairs into a semi-dark expanse that seems to only be lit by the light that hangs above the staircase and a lamp in the farthest corner.
“Um,” he says, reaching the foot of the stairs. “Hi?”
It’s just Blaine, standing on a gym mat and wearing a wife beater, and Mike tries and fails not to notice how sexy he looks. His hair, too, seems to have become a little more ungelled in the time since dinner, and Blaine’s curls are just starting to make themselves known along his forehead.
“Hi,” he answers sweetly, and Mike’s stomach flips strangely. He makes his way into the room, looking around, but yeah—there’s definitely no one else here, and he gives Blaine a skeptical look.
“Are you secretly a serial killer who lures unsuspecting sophomores into creepy basements?”
Blaine laughs again, huskily, and reaches out to Mike. “Just come here.”
He complies, of course, because he trusts Blaine even when he looks like a freshman serial killer in a semi-dark basement. He’s surprised when Blaine actually takes his hand, pulling him onto the gym mat with him, and then he and Blaine are close enough that he can smell Blaine’s shower gel.
“So I sort of lied when I said this wasn’t an ambush,” Blaine starts, and at Mike’s raised eyebrow, he continues. “The Bubs aren’t going to leap out at you and draw you into an impromptu rendition of ‘Drumming Song,’ but…”
He trails off and looks away, biting his lip, and it’s hard to tell because it’s dark, but Mike would almost swear that he’s blushing. And then he looks up at Mike from underneath those stupid caterpillar eyebrows, but then Mike just sees eyelashes, and he almost doesn’t notice that Blaine’s leaning in until there are lips against his.
He doesn’t really react because he’s still not sure what’s going on—semidark basement, wife beater, creepy gym mats… Is this something worthy of Dateline NBC…? So when Blaine pulls away and looks disappointed, Mike isn’t that surprised.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I must’ve misunderstood.” He drops Mike’s hand and starts to pull away, but Mike reaches out to his arm, stopping him.
“No, wait. Just—what is going on?” Mike gestures around at the basement, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “What’s with the pedo setting?”
Blaine laughs, though it’s a little bitter, and that goes straight through Mike because Blaine’s never bitter like that unless something’s wrong. “That was Tina. She told me that you have a thing for Brad Pitt in Fight Club. It was stupid.”
Only that doesn’t actually explain anything, and Mike shakes his head. “You’re going to have to try that one again.”
“Really, this whole thing was Tina’s idea. I wanted to surprise you with flowers and take you swing dancing, but Tina said this would be hotter,” Blaine says with a sigh, and he tries a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. Like I said, I think I just misunderstood. I thought,” and here he stops and shakes his head, sheepish, “I thought you liked me as much as I like you. It’s okay, though. No hard feelings, I hope?”
Blaine might still be waiting for Mike to say something like no hard feelings, bro, let’s go get some pizza when Mike launches himself forward and kisses Blaine with the passion he was lacking when he was still trying to figure out if Blaine was a sexual predator. Blaine manages to respond after a moment of surprise, his arms coming up around Mike’s back and holding him close.
When they break apart, Mike starts laughing, leaning back in Blaine’s embrace.
“What?” Blaine asks, humor in his voice, and his hands lightly stroke the small of Mike’s back because of course Blaine is the kind of person to lightly stroke the small of your back.
Mike comes up shaking his head, smiling broadly.
“I’m pretty sure at some point we’re going to have to have a threeway with my ex-girlfriend. I hope you’re okay with that.”
Blaine’s laugh is more like a throaty chuckle, and he cups the back of Mike’s neck, pulling him closer.
“She already warned me about that,” he murmurs before they decide to leave the talking aside for a little while.
