Of Bowling Pins and Bloody Noses

Author's Note: Hello there! Glee's on tonight! Are you excited? I just wanted to post a little one-shot. Again. :P That's all I seem to be writing lately, I hope you don't mind. Anyway, this one was prompted by the fantabulous AngelisIgniRelucent.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. But poutine is Canadian.

"This is so unsanitary. I can't believe I'm doing this," Kurt shudders as we take a seat. He's holding out the pair of shoes like it's some kind of mouldy food that he found in his fridge.

I can't help but laugh a little at his disgusted expression. I scoot closer to him on the bench, grinning. "You're doing it because your friends forced you to come," he gives me that dubious look that says I do just what I please, mister, so I add, "And you can't resist my puppy-dog face."

He nods seriously. "True." Then, he taps his finger on my nose lightly when I demonstrate just the face that can convince him to do just about anything. I drop the face and laugh. "However," he adds, grimacing once more as he looks down at the bowling shoes, "It doesn't excuse how disgusting this is. Do you have any idea how many people have worn these shoes before? Plus, they're the ugliest things I've ever seen. No way do they match with my outfit."

"Kurt!" I say, tying up the laces on my own pair of stiff bowling shoes. His last complaint certainly has a ring of truth; the shoes are a terrible mixture of red and yellowish green. "Don't be so harsh. They sanitize the shoes afterwards."

"Yes, but still. Just think about it. This is gross." Kurt sighs, but then puts on the offending footwear, anyway. "Oh, the things I do for you, Blaine Devon Anderson," he mutters as he ties up the laces.

Suddenly, Kurt's step-brother comes running up. "Kurt's on my team! Dibs!"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "You can't call 'dibs' on a person, Finn."

"Yeah," Puck says, coming up from behind us and making room for himself to sit in the small space between Kurt and me, "And, why would you want Hummel on your team, anyway?" At Kurt's shove and indignant look, he chuckles, "Sorry, Princess."

"Dude, Kurt's awesome at bowling!" Finn says, and Kurt sticks out his tongue at Puck. I can't help but laugh.

"What are you laughing at, Shorty?" Puck says, then reaches over to catch me in a headlock.

"No!" I yell out, "Not the hair! Please!" However, against my protests, the mohawked boy still ruffles my hair, ruining the solidity of the gel. "Puck!" I whine.

He just laughs evilly and gets off the bench to go annoy Santana. Kurt gives me a sympathetic face and moves closer. He carefully attempts to fix my hair into a presentable state as a sit still, looking around the bowling alley. Mr. Shuester had booked the place for the New Directions as a celebration/bonding party of some kind. I don't really care about the reasoning behind it; I just think that it's cool. I really like hanging out with my friends and, more importantly, my boyfriend.

Kurt and I don't have to hide or pretend around our friends in Glee. They know us and they accept us. I'm glad that it's just our group in the bowling alley, because that means that I can be affectionate towards Kurt and nobody will care. Acting like we're just "good friends" (which we are, but you know what I mean) in public gets tiresome. I find myself wanting to reach out and take his hand, but refrain myself. I want to kiss his cheek when he gets me something or does something sweet, but all I can do is smile at him and put as much meaning in my eyes as possible.

I lean into his shoulder when he stops fixing my hair and he looks at me steadily, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. We watch silently, completely comfortable, as everyone else gets their shoes on and starts to make teams. Finn, Puck, Kurt and I end up on the same team, and we write our names on the sheet. Kurt is given the role of scorekeeper since Finn is easily confused, Puck is easily distracted, and I am easily excited.

I'm absently watching Britney in the next lane down, as she sets up a tea party using a piece of pizza and three Polly Pockets. Santana pretended that she didn't want any pizza at first, but she's now eating her heart out and giving the finger to people who look at her strangely. Artie and Sam make up the rest of their team. You would think that Artie would have trouble bowling, since he's in a wheelchair, but he actually has the most precision out of everyone here. Probably due to a mixture of his brains and superhuman arm strength.

I'm brought back to my own team's antics as a shout rings out close to me, "Yes! Spare!" Puck's doing an obscene victory dance. Finn is pouting, presumably because he can't throw a bowling ball without tripping over his own feet. Kurt just rolls his eyes.

"Come on, Puckerman," my boyfriend scoffs, "A spare is no big deal."

"Oh yeah?" Puck stops dancing and walks over to the bench where we're sitting. He looks threatening, but I know that Puck will never actually hurt us. I swear, he considers Kurt and I to be his gay younger brothers or something…except, without Kurt and I being brothers…because that would be weird, since we're together.

I should really stop daydreaming, because Kurt's exchanging words and exaggerated movements with Puck and now he's walking towards the alley and it's his turn to throw. He grabs a green bowling ball and holds it to at eye-level. I can't help but appreciate how smoothly and naturally he moves.

Even though Puck shouts out a word to make him screw up, Kurt throws a perfect strike. "Yeah!" I cheer, "That's my boyfriend!" It feels so good just to be able to say it out loud in a public place, even though it's just our friends here. Kurt gives a cute little bow and returns to the plastic bench.

"Your turn, Blaine," he says. I kiss him on the cheek—because I can, and how could I resist when his blue eyes are sparkling like that?—then make my way to the bowling balls. I pick the blue one and stand at the end of the alley.

Oh, there's one thing I forgot to mention. I wouldn't have agreed to this bowling thing, if it wasn't just the New Directions—people I trust—who would be here. Because, well, I can't really bowl that well. You know how they teach you to bowl by swinging it between your legs? Yeah, I still do that.

I can hear Puck's snicker as I release the ball awkwardly, but it hits a couple of pins so I don't get completely ridiculed. I may have looked foolish, but I got more points than Finn, so it's acceptable.

After that, our game becomes less of a team thing and more of a competition; Finn and Puck against Kurt and me. Puck's got basic skills and immeasurable self-confidence, and Finn's gangly and awkward. "Come on, Finn! Have you gotten any points yet?" the mohawked man yells more than once.

Kurt and I make a fantastic team. He's pretty much a natural, and I try my best with the average skills I possess. That combined equals quite a good score by the end of the game. "Who beat you?" I brag to Puck when the game's over, "We did!"

"Shut up, Hobbit," the Jewish guy grumbles, but I know he's not too mad. It was a little blow to his pride, yes, but he'll get over it.

Finn walks up to where Kurt and I are sharing a poutine (even though Kurt swore that he would never eat such copious amounts of cheese and grease). "Good game, guys," he says.

"Thanks, Finn," I reply cheerfully, honestly happy at his civilized reaction.

Kurt's step-brother responds by throwing himself in a chair beside mine, "Ooh, fries, gimme some!" he says eagerly, and steals a couple, ignoring the slap on the arm he gets from Kurt. I'm not really surprised; I knew that Finn had some kind of food on his mind when he had come over here in the first place. Also, knowing that us—a couple of gay guys—won against two proclaimed popular dudes is kind of satisfying. We don't need his congratulations to feel good about the win.

Suddenly, Kurt sits bolt upright and his hand flies to his face, "Shit," he mutters, then gets up from the plastic chair, "I'll be right back," he says, just as quietly and calmly, then leaves. I follow him, of course, to see that he has made his way to the boys' washroom.

"Kurt," I call out softly, "Are you okay?" There's no one here besides Kurt and I; the stalls are empty and Kurt is quickly grabbing some paper towel.

"Yeah, Blaine, I'm fine," he says, but his back is turned to me and he's blocking his own reflection in the mirror. Now, most people would tell me not to worry and to go back to the party, but Kurt knows that I would worry even more and not even have fun if I did so. So, he lets me be a part of this.

I approach him, "Hey, look at me," I say, and he finally turns around. He's holding the paper towel up to his face, and I realize that the situation must be pretty desperate because I know that Kurt would never usually let that stiff, scratchy paper near his face. "Let me see," I mutter, and gently touch his hand until he lowers the paper towel.

The white of the paper is stained with red. There's blood flowing from his nose. Normally, I can't stand the sight of blood. If this had been anybody else, I would have fled the washroom in two seconds flat. But, this is Kurt and the thought of repulsion doesn't even cross my mind. "Oh, baby, what happened?" I say. Normally, we don't use pet names, but it slips out without my conscious thought.

"It's no big deal," Kurt says, turning around again to lean over the sink. He tries to clean up the blood off his face, but it's still flowing fairly steadily and whatever he cleans is soon replaced. He makes a frustrated noise and throws the paper towel violently in the trash can.

He's moving to rip off another piece when I gently stop him. "Let me," I request, and he simply allows me to get it, trying to stop the blood flow with his hand and grimacing. "Kurt, what caused this?" I ask.

"It's nothing, Blaine, I promise," he says, but it comes out slightly muffled. I run the paper towel under a little bit of water, then gesture for him to sit on the counter by the sink. He jumps up as gracefully as possible then sits patiently, his legs swinging slightly. I stop the movement and move to stand in between them so that I have a direct access to his face. "It's just my allergies," he explains as I start to gingerly dab at the blood pooling near his upper lip. "It's a dry time of year or something. I usually get them in the middle of the night."

"That sucks," I grimace. The blood seems to have finally ceased, and I can finally clean off his face and have it stay that way. His porcelain skin is soon returned to its original flaweless state.

"Yeah," he hums. He puts his arms around my neck and absently plays with the curls at the nape of my neck.

I'm enjoying his proximity as well. His nose is a little red from the dry paper towel and his hair is a little out of place, but he looks completely adorable to me. I press our foreheads together and look into his eyes. "No, come on, I'm all gross," he laughs, trying to move from the position, but I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him close.

"Nuh uh, not letting you get away, mister," I say playfully. I'm just placing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth when Finn barges into the washroom. We turn and look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Oh," Finn says, and he's looking a little embarrassed, "Sorry."

"What do you want, Finn?" Kurt chuckles.

The tall boy scratches the back of his neck, "Well, when you ran off like that, I was worried and I was gonna come to see if you were okay. But then Puck told me that you probably came in here to…you know. And Santana agreed with him. But I was still worried, so I came to check on you, and I guess they were right…so I should probably go now…" he moves to back out of the room, but Kurt stops him.

"Finn," he says firmly and his step-brother looks at him with a question mark in his brown eyes, "We didn't come in here to…do that. I had a nosebleed and Blaine helped me out."

"So, what were you…"

"Can't I kiss my boyfriend when I feel like it?" Kurt proves his point by planting a small kiss to my cheek and I blush a little.

"Oh, okay," Finn mutters, "So was that an allergy thing or are you hurt or…?"

I nod before my boyfriend can answer, "Yes, an allergy thing. But we took care of it. We'll be right there, okay?" Finn seems to catch my drift and he leaves the washroom with a wave. I turn around so that we're back in our original position, "Now, where were we?" I whisper, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

"Blaine!" he laughs, "You just told Finn that we'd return to the party."

I kiss up to his jawbone, "Mm, don't wanna."

"Blaine," he says firmly, and I look up at him from under my lashes, my lower lip sticking out slightly. The puppy dog face. The ultimate weapon. However, he seems to have developed some kind of immunity to it. "Nope, none of that. We have to go back there and spend some time with our friends. Maybe kick Puck's ass again."

I sigh, but allow him to jump off the sink counter. "Okay, but…later?"

He grins impishly at me as he walks away, "Hm, I'm not sure…"


Author's Second Note: This is my 60th story! :D

I wrote most of this while half-asleep. I read over it and surprised myself ("This came out of my brain? I don't remember this at all."). :P It's kind of funny. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Review?

Take care.

-Patricia Sage