Chazzam
Dec. 17, 2012, 1:22 p.m.
Midnight Confessions: Chapter 7
E - Words: 2,524 - Last Updated: Dec 17, 2012 Story: Complete - Chapters: 21/21 - Created: Dec 06, 2012 - Updated: Apr 13, 2022 842 0 0 0 0
Sunday, 8:33a.m. - 1:48p.m.
West Virginia
Santana rubbed her eyes, the never-ending list on the computer screen in front of her narrowed down to an annoyingly large number of results.
“How the fuck can that many people in the state of New York own a black vintage Camaro convertible?” she demanded of her empty office. Sighing deeply, she took another deep swig of her now-cold cup of coffee. She could still filter the results down some, but either way she wouldn't be going home any time soon. She briefly contemplated just curling up and taking a nap on the floor, but decided against it. Time was of the essence, and she would get to the bottom of this.
She may not be Agent Lopez anymore, but Detective Lopez still got her man.
She always got her man.
Santana shook her head and went back to the list in front of her. It was going to be a long day, and probably an even longer night.
~000~
“So, um, I'll take these, and do you sell prepaid cell phones, by any chance?”
The cashier eyed Blaine. “This here is part of the National Radio Quiet Zone. Cell phones don't work here.”
“Oh,” Blaine replied, intrigued. “Like, they don't work at all?”
“Nope,” the man answered, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard. “Cell phones, pagers, pretty much anything wireless.”
“Well, I suppose that would explain the lack of radio stations on the drive up.”
The cashier cracked a smile. “There are a few, but the signals are weak. Mostly they're just used for emergencies anyway.”
“Well, I guess just these then,” Blaine said, gesturing to the cluster of tiny liquor bottles he'd neatly placed on the checkout counter.
The man eyed the bottles. “Um...sir, are you sure you wouldn't rather have the large economy size?” he asked, gesturing to the larger bottles on the shelves to Blaine's left.
“No...no, these are fine,” Blaine assured him, cradling one of the little bottles of Wild Turkey in his palm. “They're just so cute, you know?”
The cashier furrowed his brow at Blaine, but didn't argue. Blaine couldn't help but blush. It was silly, of course, but somehow drinking little nips of liquor seemed less like self-medication than taking swigs from an enormous bottle.
Blaine thanked the cashier, picking his bag up from the counter and nearly running headlong into Kurt outside the convenience store. Kurt had just emerged from the men's room and was looking absolutely revolted.
“Piece of advice, Blaine? You're better off peeing in the bushes. Trust me.”
Blaine laughed, wrinkling his nose at the scent that wafted from the bathroom as another man walked out. “Noted.”
“So, Blaine,” Kurt said, suddenly serious as they walked toward the car. “I want you to call Dave.”
Blaine snorted. “What for?” he asked bitterly. “Last time I called him – at two in the morning, mind you, the asshole didn't even pick up.”
Kurt sighed. “Just...just call him. Tell him you're having a wonderful time and you'll be home tomorrow night.”
Blaine stopped short, turning to face Kurt. “Will I be?”
“ I don't know,” Kurt answered simply. “I won't.”
They locked eyes, holding one another's gaze for a long moment. Kurt gave Blaine an almost-smile. “Pay phone's over there,” he said softly, motioning to the other end of the parking lot. He gave Blaine's shoulder a quick squeeze before turning around to head inside the convenience store. Blaine watched him walk away.
Blaine dropped his purchases off in the car, grabbing one of the little bottles and slinging it back as he headed toward the pay phone.
~000~
“Fuck!” Dave growled when his phone began to ring. Of course some asshole would have to call during the game, especially when the Giants were finally starting to come back after a horrendous start to the season. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table and frowned at the unfamiliar out-of-state number he saw on the screen.
He considered not answering it for a moment, but then again, it could be that client who was still trying to decide between a Lexus and a Benz and didn't seem to understand the terms day off or Sunday or the Giants are playing. It could be Blaine. It could be Tyler – he often called Dave from friends' phones so his boyfriend didn't get suspicious.
“Dave here,” he grunted when he finally relented and answered the call. He kept his eyes glued to the TV. They were so close to tying up the score...
There was a crackle of silence on the line, and then a pre-recorded voice told him to press one to accept a collect call from Blaine.
Dave scowled at the note he could still see on the kitchen counter from where he sat, along with a tiger lily in a vase and instructions on how to microwave the leftovers in the fridge. He narrowed his eyes, his attention momentarily pulled from the game as he jammed his finger against the screen of his phone to accept the call.
“Blaine, where the hell are you?” he demanded before he'd even heard Blaine's voice. The leftovers had been grilled vegetables and crap, so he'd had to order his own pizza, and he'd ordered it from the place with the faggy thin crust shit by accident because Blaine wasn't there to do it for him. Dave was absolutely not amused.
“Um...” came a slightly shaky voice from the other end of the line. “I'm...um...with Kurt. We...we're in the mountains and there's no, um, reception so...um...we're fishing...and...”
“So you've finally completely lost your mind. Is that it?” Dave roared. “I leave for work, and you just up and take complete leave of your senses? I knew letting you hang out with Hummel would only–”
“Dave, please. Calm down,” Blaine said softly. “Don't get so angry, I can explain, you see...um....Kurt, well, he has this friend who–”
He started to say some other shit, but Dave almost dropped the phone completely when his eyes wandered back to the screen. Because Manning was fucking bringing it. If he could make this touchdown, it would be a fucking game changer.
Dave leapt to his feet. “Hold on...” he breathed, eyes fixed on the game, not even daring to blink. Blaine didn't hear him, of course, because Dave was clutching the phone against his shoulder now, Blaine's voice droning on about Hummel or boats or fresh air or something in the background as he watched Manning get closer and closer and then fumble the fucking ball thirty feet from the end zone.
“FUCK!” Dave roared, almost throwing his phone across the room before he remembered that Blaine was still talking.
“...so...we'll just be gone one more day, and then we'll be home tomorrow night, OK?” Blaine finished, as Dave brought the phone back to his ear.
“Like hell you will,” Dave snarled. “You will be home tonight, dammit. No, this afternoon. You will be home this after-fucking-noon, Blaine,” Dave enunciated, his lip curling. Because this shit had to end. When Blaine got home, he and Dave were going to have a very serious conversation about the nature of his relationship with one Kurt Hummel.
Blaine sighed. “Dave, you...” he cleared his throat, and when he began speaking again, his voice still shook but it was also full of determination. “Dave, you're my husband, not my father.”
“Oh, that is it. That is just it. That damn faggot Hummel is nothing but a bad influence on you. Now I want you home to-day, Blaine, or...I...well.” Dave paused dramatically. “Let's just say I don't think you want to know what I'll do.”
Actually, Dave knew pretty much exactly what he was going to do. He'd yell some and then Blaine would feel so guilty that he'd suck him off every day for a week without expecting anything back. It almost made bullshit stunts like this one worth it, truth be told.
“Dave?” Blaine ventured after a moment.
“Yeah?” Dave replied brusquely.
“Go fuck yourself,” Blaine said, before the line went dead.
Dave pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it incredulously before finally giving in and throwing it across the room as hard as he could.
“Fuck!” Dave screamed.
~000~
Blaine cracked open a second bottle of Wild Turkey as soon as he got to the car, his heart still pounding from his conversation with Dave. He had never spoken to his husband that way before. Never.
And he had absolutely never expected it to feel so goddamned good. He almost wanted to call Dave right back, just to tell him to go fuck himself again.
The combination of the two nips he'd polished off and the vein of adrenaline running through him from the phone call made Blaine feel oddly happy for the first time since everything had gone to shit. He hummed to himself as he pulled down the visor above the passenger seat, combing his hair the way he liked it. He wondered if the lack of radio stations for the next few hundred miles would be enough to encourage Kurt to sing with him while they drove. He knew Kurt was still pretty high-strung about everything that was happening, but they hadn't sung together in so long, and they'd had to ditch their iphones with all their music on them back in Pennsylvania, and just thinking about singing with Kurt made Blaine long to do it again as soon as possible.
Blaine looked up as a shadow fell across the mirror, grinning automatically and expecting to see Kurt.
Blaine's smile faltered when he found himself looking into the eyes of a stranger. The guy was tall and well-built, with nicely tanned skin and what looked like a Mohawk peeking out from under a backwards baseball cap on his head. When he smiled at Blaine his eyes sparkled, and Blaine tried very hard to ignore the swoop of attraction in his gut.
Because this? Was a very hot guy.
“Excuse me, sir, but you seem like a nice guy,” the man said. Blaine felt his mouth twitch at the use of the term sir, because this guy looked to be about Blaine's own age.
“You see, I'm a student and I'm trying to get back to school,” the guy continued, “but my ride fell through, and now I'm kinda stuck here like stink on stink. I was wondering if maybe you're going my way or I'm going your way...you might be able to help me out a little?” His eyes were like rich pools of caramel.
“Oh,” Blaine answered, trying to sound cool and unfazed. “Well, I think we're headed toward Indianapolis, but I'm not sure.”
“Well, that's perfect! That's just on my way. I can't even tell you how much I would appreciate it.”
He flashed Blaine another mind-melting smile, and Blaine couldn't stop himself from blushing to his roots.
“But, um...see, it's not really up to me,” Blaine explained. “It's not my car, it belongs to my friend, and...well, he'd probably say no. He's kind of, um...” uptight? Snippy? A ball of stress?…“fastidious,” Blaine finally settled on.
“Maybe it's not such a great idea, then,” the man said quickly. “But you know what? I thank you for your time, and I-”
“But, you know, I could ask...it, um, well, it wouldn't hurt to ask, right?” Blaine said with a shrug.
“No, that's true, it wouldn't hurt...” the guy agreed, and fuck if his smile hadn't turned blatantly flirtatious at some point in their conversation.
Blaine smiled up at they guy in a way that he refused to think of as goofy, before ducking his head in embarrassment. When he glanced back up he spotted Kurt headed toward them, a bag from the convenience store in one hand and a twizzler in the other.
“Kurt!” Blaine called out quickly, when Kurt began to frown at the man. “Kurt. This...uh...this young man is on his way back to school, so I figured since we're going the same direction we could maybe give him a ride, right?” Blaine asked hopefully. He knew it was a long shot, but Kurt had surprised him before. And surely Kurt could appreciate how smoking hot the guy was.
Kurt came to a stop beside the driver's side door, studying the man while he chewed on his twizzler. When he finally pulled the candy out of his mouth, he shot the man a tight smile.
“I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a very good idea,” he answered.
“No, probably not. Fair enough,” answered the guy, smiling at Kurt. “But I tell you what, you gentlemen have a nice day, all right?”
Kurt nodded at him, and Blaine waved mournfully as the man began walking away, his snug jeans firmly hugging his predictably fantastic ass.
“Kurt...” Blaine protested, and he didn't even care that he was almost whining. Had Kurt suddenly gone blind or something?
Kurt ignored Blaine and started the car, pulling up to the now-free lone gas pump in front of the convenience store.
“Kurt, did you see how polite he is?” Blaine protested, watching the man walk into the convenience store. “He's a sweetheart.”
Kurt rolled his eyes, cutting the engine and asking the attendant to fill up the tank.
“So what did Dave have to say?” Kurt asked, pointedly changing the subject.
Blaine sighed. “Oh, you know, pretty much what you'd expect: 'It's so great to hear from you, Blaine, I just wanted to be sure you were OK. I hope you're having a wonderful time. You deserve a break, after all, you put up with me every day. I love you so much, sweetheart.'”
Kurt raised his eyebrows in amusement, and Blaine pulled two more mini bottles of Wild Turkey from his shopping bag. He pressed one into Kurt's hand and uncapped the other.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking the bottles together. He took a delicate swig while Kurt continued to stare at him. “So,” Blaine said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “How long until we're in fucking Canada?”
Kurt's face split into a grin so radiant that Blaine forgot completely and utterly about the guy with the Mohawk and the fantastic ass. Kurt opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, furrowing his brow before opening his mouth again.
“Really?” he asked quietly. “I don't want you to make a decision this big just because you're upset with Dave and you've had a few rounds of liquid courage, Blaine.”
Blaine shook his head. “I'm only a little drunk, and all my talk with Dave did was tell me what I already knew.”
Kurt searched Blaine's face, waiting for him to continue.
“You were the only good thing I had going for me anymore as it was,” Blaine said seriously. “And if leaving everything else behind means I get to keep my best friend...that actually sounds like a pretty good deal to me, Kurt.”
Kurt bit his lip, his eyes shining. He threw his arms around Blaine and squeezed him tight.
“Me too,” he whispered. “I didn't want to pressure you, but I'm so happy you're coming with me, Blaine, you don't even know.”
“Actually, I think I do,” Blaine replied, as they pulled away from one another. Kurt flushed slightly when he realized that the attendant had been awkwardly waiting for them to pay while they hugged.
While they waited for their change, Blaine held his half-empty bottle up to Kurt's again.
“To friendship,” he said, clinking the bottles together.
“I'll drink to that,” answered Kurt, unscrewing the tiny cap on his bourbon.