April 2020

It was 10:30 at night, the party was in full swing, and Kurt Hummel was irritated.

He’d taken great care arranging Sebastian’s twenty-fifth birthday party. Tina had helped him scope out the best DJ, he’d hired one of Sebastian’s favorite Italian caterers to provide the food, and Mercedes had helped out with the decorations. The final step the three of them had taken was to call up one of the most well-known strip clubs in the city, for the night’s entertainment. Mercedes had giggled helplessly while trying to converse with the club’s manager, but Tina had become surprisingly no-nonsense over the years (the bartending job she now held regularly helped) and had conducted the conversation with Kurt. They’d negotiated a price for Urge Lounge’s two best performers, although Kurt had left the method of their entry and the ‘theme’ (whatever that meant) up to the manager. He had, however, been quite firm about the time. Ten ‘o’ clock, he’d repeated at least three times. He needed the performers for five hours – from ten to three. Surely it wasn’t that difficult to understand?

And yet now here it was, 10:33 and no sign of them. Kurt ground his teeth together as he nursed his beer, ignoring the enthusiastic whoops issuing from the kitchen. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sebastian – they were still good friends, even after breaking up – but most of the guests were Sebastian’s friends, and they didn’t exactly run the same crowd. Kurt was just there to make sure everything flowed smoothly.

And it would, as soon as the damn entertainment arrived.

A series of harsh knocks suddenly sounded out. Kurt frowned, flicking his eyes over the crowd before moving over to the entrance. He couldn’t imagine who could be calling at this hour – perhaps one of Sebastian’s friends was late. Then again, the door was unlocked, so they’d hardly need to knock. Tina waved at him as he pushed past a couple of gyrating girls, and he blew her a quick kiss as he finally reached the door and yanked it open.

His face paled at the sight of the two policemen. The taller one adjusted his shades(what sort of a douchebag wore sunglasses at night? Wait no, he could be in trouble, he shouldn’t start ripping an officer a new one because of sunglasses) and stepped forward, his voice deep and vaguely threatening. “Excuse me, Mr. Smythe?” Kurt cleared his throat.

“Uhm, no, Mr. Smythe is. Currently occupied. Can I help you?” The shorter one stiffened a little at his words, and Kurt wondered if he was frowning. Surely he hadn’t said anything wrong? He didn’t even know why these officers were here.

The taller one continued. “Unfortunately, we’ve gotten a number of complaints from neighbors about Mr. Smythe’s noise level. It seems tonight is the tipping point, and we cannot allow this to go on any further. We need to book Mr. Smythe for noise violation charges.” Kurt’s mouth dropped open as the policemen pushed past him.

“Hey… HEY!” He chased after them, grabbing the shorter one by the arm and tugging him around. “You listen to me! I’ve had everything checked and pre-approved when it comes to this party, you can’t just barge in and make up these rules off the top of your head because some old granny is being extra fussy tonight! It’s Sebastian’s birthday, surely you could-?” The policeman shook him off, his gaze still inscrutable behind his sunglasses.

“Could you direct us towards Mr. Smythe, please?” the shorter one asked, while the other doubled back and stood next to his partner. The guests were beginning to notice the presence of the uniforms, and Kurt cursed under his breath as he led the policemen towards a very inebriated Sebastian Smythe.

The shorter one hauled Sebastian away from the guy he’d been grinding up against while the other fetched a chair. Kurt looked on, frozen in horror, as the shorter policeman pushed a drunk Sebastian back into the chair. Kurt could hear his friend protesting as the taller man gripped his shoulders to prevent him from rising. The shorter policeman stepped back, standing a small distance from Sebastian. Kurt wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see his cheeks rising in a sort of … smile?

“You have the right to an attorney,” the shorter policeman intoned in a serious voice. So clearly, Kurt had just been imagining things. He shook his head and stepped forward, determined to break up the… whatever was going on. All of the guests had stopped dancing, and even the DJ was inching closer to view the spectacle. God, Sebastian would never forgive him if his party was remembered as “the one where the birthday boy got arrested”.

“You have the right,” the taller one spoke, whispering into Sebastian’s ear but projecting his voice clearly, “to enjoy the show.” Kurt paused, his forehead furrowing as he tried to make sense of the words – he had had a bit to drink, after all – but before he could reason it out himself, the shorter policeman ran his hands down his own body and ripped his uniform off.

Oh.

Kurt would have laughed at Sebastian’s expression if he wasn’t so dumbstruck himself. The other policeman – stripper – released Sebastian and shimmied out in front of him, peeling his uniform off much more sensually. The shorter one pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them carelessly to the side, and Kurt saw him grin as a girl caught them and whooped. He ran his hands down his chest, eyelids fluttering as his hips began working in small circles. The taller one moved to straddle Sebastian in his chair, grinding their crotches together as Sebastian let out a surprised moan.

The other performer moved over to Kurt, who was still standing a few feet in front of the rest of the crowd. Kurt blinked as the stripper winked at him, cocking his police cap(god, it was still on) at a jaunty angle before swaying closer, his body moving tantalizingly. Kurt licked his dry lips as the stripper turned, wiggling his ass in Kurt’s face.

Kurt fled.

He skulked near the bar as he watched others approach the strippers. Sometimes, the crowd would part and he would be treated with a glimpse of one of them, dressed only in tight black briefs with dollar bills tucked into the waistband. The shorter one still had the police hat on, while the taller one had abandoned it but kept his sunglasses. At least everyone was enjoying themselves, Kurt thought. That was the important bit. He took a sip from his beer, making a face at how flat it was, and set his glass down. He’d grab something else later – his head was already buzzing pleasantly.

He squeezed his way through the crowd, biting his lip at the sight of the shorter stripper advancing on a still-seated Sebastian. Sebastian grinned lecherously and reached out to grip the stripper by his hips, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Kurt thought he could hear the stripper laugh silkily as he straddled Sebastian, picking up Sebastian’s hand and sucking two of his fingers into his mouth. Sebastian’s mouth dropped.

“Blaine?”

The stripper stiffened for a second before letting out another laugh. “I think someone’s had too much to drink,” he purred, even as Kurt pressed closer. “My name’s Blake Jackman, honey, but I can be anyone you want me to be.”

Sebastian suddenly seemed oddly lucid for someone with one and a half hours’ worth of alcohol in his system. “No, you’re Blaine… Blaine… Anderson!” He nodded, pulling his fingers out of Blaine’s mouth and clutching the side of his face. “What’re you doin’ here, Blaine? It’s been so long, did Kurt invite you?” Kurt wrinkled his nose and pulled the stripper off, batting Sebastian’s curious hands away.

“Sweetie, if you can’t behave nicely,” he began with a sigh and turned to the stripper. “I am so sorry, I don’t know what…” He trailed off, his forehead furrowing as he caught the man’s eyes, honey-hazel and framed by thick eyelashes. Kurt swallowed, his grip around the man’s wrist loosening.

 “I… how…?” Kurt’s voice sounded quiet and stunned even to his own ears. Nothing made sense– the music was still pounding in his ears, his head was still so fuzzy, his limbs felt so loose. Blaine’s face had changed over the years – less baby fat, more sculpting, and holy shit had he grown? Maybe it wasn’t him after all. But the flash of uncertainty in the man’s eyes betrayed him – if he hadn’t been Blaine, the name would have meant nothing to him. Kurt would have meant nothing to him.

He grasped Blaine by the wrist once more and tugged ferociously, heading towards the bathroom and hoping that it wasn’t occupied. It took a little bit of hammering and threatening, but the couple inhabiting it soon stumbled out, their clothes in disarray. Kurt took a moment to note that the woman involved was Tina, made a mental note about teasing her about it, and shoved Blaine into the small bathroom. He successfully followed without banging into the doorframe (his coordination was usually the first thing to go when he was drunk) and shut the door behind him.

When he turned, Blaine looked oddly defiant. His arms were folded across his bare chest, his skin still sparkling with sweat and – was that glitter? The police hat was almost falling off his hair (less gelled than in high school, Kurt noted), and Kurt reached out to pluck it off his head. Blaine blinked, his expression softening into surprise for a heartbeat.

Kurt set the police hat down on the closed toilet lid and turned back to Blaine. “Okay. Talk.”