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Title: Mr. Cellophane vs Mr. Blaine
Pair: Klaine
Word Count: ~835
Summary: Kurt realizes where he stands. He can have his dignity, until it gets in the way of what the group wants.
AN: This show causes me such pain. This is just a little vent. And sex jokes.
Tears of frustration look like any other tears. Pretty much. It’s five minutes into practicing their final set list for Nationals when Kurt Hummel feels the familiar prick, excuses himself, and heads to the bathroom to get a grip.
Now, it’s not so much realizing that once again, he won’t be featured in this group he puts so much effort into. No major role in any of their competitions for his final year, or the play. For all the fuss about the other students getting out of the way so that the seniors can have their moment, in the end, Kurt won’t be singing any more than the newer members, or the juniors. The problem really is that he suddenly, starkly, realizes that he’s been forced to trade the spotlight for his dignity. Again.
Dress in drag, dance for us, play into our stereotype, or sway in the background.
So Kurt stands in front of the bathroom mirror. He’s not crying, though his face is bright red. He realizes where he stands.
Kurt can have his dignity, until it gets in the way of what the group wants. No one cares that this cuts into an old wound, or respects that he isn’t just another cardboard cutout for them to pose however they like.
Kurt is invisible. Kurt is Mr. Cellophane. He wonders why he ever thought that might change.
Blaine peeps his head into the bathroom. When Kurt says nothing, Blaine takes a step in and shuts the door.
“I’ve never been the bitter kind.” Kurt’s voice is soft, haunting the acoustics of the room.
Blaine tilts his head to the side. Kurt looks at him.
“Do you care? Do you even care? Doesn’t it offend you, at all, that I’m only useful to the group if I’m the kind of queer they want at that moment?”
“I-I- Uh. Of course, I care!” Blaine sputters. He flails his hands and crosses his arms. “I just... I don’t...”
“I don’t know what to say, either,” Kurt admits.
“It just... It makes me so mad.” Blaine suddenly spins around and slams his palms against the cold tile of the wall.
“The only way I’m getting a solo on that stage at Nationals is in a dress. It’s go girl or go home. There just isn’t room in their minds for me as anything else. Even Rachel couldn’t care less that I’m useless to them, if I’m not being a prop.” Kurt closes his eyes. “Maybe I’m useless to her, if I’m not propping her up.”
“No.” Blaine heaves a sigh. “No, I... I don’t think... They just don’t get it. I’m sorry I’m not-”
“It’s not always our job to educate them. Not mine, not yours. Sometimes, sometimes, they need to get it for themselves. My life isn’t a friggin’ after school special.” Kurt’s lips tighten. His back straightens. He steps closer to his boyfriend, slips an arm around his waist and pulls him close.
Blaine rubs Kurt’s back with one hand. “They should have you doing ‘Not the Boy Next Door’ up there. Last year you were ‘too controversial.’ Now you’re not enough?”
“Not enough of what they can imagine. They just don’t see me.”
“Carmen Tibideaux saw you. She saw you, and she was impressed. And she knows what she’s looking for. Kurt, when we’re in New York, it’ll be better. It’ll be different.”
Kurt nods. He leans forward, and their noses touch. Blaine’s eyes, wide and puppy-dog sad because he can’t make this better, can’t even think how to comfort his boyfriend, meet Kurt’s, and their lips touch, softly.
“If I talk about it all the time… it's because I see us there, our future. It won’t be perfect. It can’t. But it has to be better. There has to be a place where someone, anyone understands.” Now he chokes. His voice chokes on unshed tears and hurts unspoken. “Where they at least try?”
“Somewhere a place for us,” Blaine sings. The quiet words lift and echo.
Kurt smiles, rubs their noses together, and slides his hand down Blaine’s sweaty back. “After practice...”
“We’ll be so tired,” Blaine whines. He doesn’t say no, though.
It’ll be a sweaty pile of manflesh on Kurt’s normally pristine bed. But while he won’t femme it up to suit the prejudice of the world around him, he’s willing to get a little dirty for the man he loves.
“You said you didn’t think the caterpillar looked that hard,” Kurt murmurs.
“We’ve done that before!” Blaine lifts his chin and takes Kurt’s hand as they head out of the bathroom.
Kurt laughs. The show must go on. “When?”
“Remember that time when we were rolling around to see who got to be on top...”
“You know I let you win.”
“Of course. You know how I get, when you win.”
Pair: Klaine
Word Count: ~835
Summary: Kurt realizes where he stands. He can have his dignity, until it gets in the way of what the group wants.
AN: This show causes me such pain. This is just a little vent. And sex jokes.
Tears of frustration look like any other tears. Pretty much. It’s five minutes into practicing their final set list for Nationals when Kurt Hummel feels the familiar prick, excuses himself, and heads to the bathroom to get a grip.
Now, it’s not so much realizing that once again, he won’t be featured in this group he puts so much effort into. No major role in any of their competitions for his final year, or the play. For all the fuss about the other students getting out of the way so that the seniors can have their moment, in the end, Kurt won’t be singing any more than the newer members, or the juniors. The problem really is that he suddenly, starkly, realizes that he’s been forced to trade the spotlight for his dignity. Again.
Dress in drag, dance for us, play into our stereotype, or sway in the background.
So Kurt stands in front of the bathroom mirror. He’s not crying, though his face is bright red. He realizes where he stands.
Kurt can have his dignity, until it gets in the way of what the group wants. No one cares that this cuts into an old wound, or respects that he isn’t just another cardboard cutout for them to pose however they like.
Kurt is invisible. Kurt is Mr. Cellophane. He wonders why he ever thought that might change.
Blaine peeps his head into the bathroom. When Kurt says nothing, Blaine takes a step in and shuts the door.
“I’ve never been the bitter kind.” Kurt’s voice is soft, haunting the acoustics of the room.
Blaine tilts his head to the side. Kurt looks at him.
“Do you care? Do you even care? Doesn’t it offend you, at all, that I’m only useful to the group if I’m the kind of queer they want at that moment?”
“I-I- Uh. Of course, I care!” Blaine sputters. He flails his hands and crosses his arms. “I just... I don’t...”
“I don’t know what to say, either,” Kurt admits.
“It just... It makes me so mad.” Blaine suddenly spins around and slams his palms against the cold tile of the wall.
“The only way I’m getting a solo on that stage at Nationals is in a dress. It’s go girl or go home. There just isn’t room in their minds for me as anything else. Even Rachel couldn’t care less that I’m useless to them, if I’m not being a prop.” Kurt closes his eyes. “Maybe I’m useless to her, if I’m not propping her up.”
“No.” Blaine heaves a sigh. “No, I... I don’t think... They just don’t get it. I’m sorry I’m not-”
“It’s not always our job to educate them. Not mine, not yours. Sometimes, sometimes, they need to get it for themselves. My life isn’t a friggin’ after school special.” Kurt’s lips tighten. His back straightens. He steps closer to his boyfriend, slips an arm around his waist and pulls him close.
Blaine rubs Kurt’s back with one hand. “They should have you doing ‘Not the Boy Next Door’ up there. Last year you were ‘too controversial.’ Now you’re not enough?”
“Not enough of what they can imagine. They just don’t see me.”
“Carmen Tibideaux saw you. She saw you, and she was impressed. And she knows what she’s looking for. Kurt, when we’re in New York, it’ll be better. It’ll be different.”
Kurt nods. He leans forward, and their noses touch. Blaine’s eyes, wide and puppy-dog sad because he can’t make this better, can’t even think how to comfort his boyfriend, meet Kurt’s, and their lips touch, softly.
“If I talk about it all the time… it's because I see us there, our future. It won’t be perfect. It can’t. But it has to be better. There has to be a place where someone, anyone understands.” Now he chokes. His voice chokes on unshed tears and hurts unspoken. “Where they at least try?”
“Somewhere a place for us,” Blaine sings. The quiet words lift and echo.
Kurt smiles, rubs their noses together, and slides his hand down Blaine’s sweaty back. “After practice...”
“We’ll be so tired,” Blaine whines. He doesn’t say no, though.
It’ll be a sweaty pile of manflesh on Kurt’s normally pristine bed. But while he won’t femme it up to suit the prejudice of the world around him, he’s willing to get a little dirty for the man he loves.
“You said you didn’t think the caterpillar looked that hard,” Kurt murmurs.
“We’ve done that before!” Blaine lifts his chin and takes Kurt’s hand as they head out of the bathroom.
Kurt laughs. The show must go on. “When?”
“Remember that time when we were rolling around to see who got to be on top...”
“You know I let you win.”
“Of course. You know how I get, when you win.”
