Title: Homecoming Tradition

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Sam Evans

Rating: T

Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long. It's been so busy lately! Definitely been keeping up with Glee though, have you all? ; ) Good stuff's coming. This chapter's a bit of a filler as I work on the Homecoming dance. Enjoy!

"Please tell me that's not your father. Except that it totally is, but please tell me it's not." Sam had thought he'd done a really amazing job, despite not having thought the entire running-onto-the-field-and-kissing-Kurt thing out. That was, until he saw Burt Hummel. He knew the man through his garage. Just last week his mother had hit a devastatingly large pothole, and popped both her front right and rear tire. They'd been recommended Hummel's Tire and Lube center, boasting fair prices and high-quality work. Sam had been doubtful anything in this town besides Kurt's clothes were "high quality".

Though, when he'd pulled his mom's car up the front parking lot (his mother had been stuck at home with no one to watch the little monsters that were his younger twin brothers; Sam had been more than happy to take the car instead), Sam had been surprised to be greeted by Kurt bent over the front end of some glamorous Navigator - oh god, what that had done to him - in a pair of leggings and a flannel top, oil smudged on his hands and cheeks, a wrench between his teeth.

Sam met Burt Hummel about ten seconds later when he'd come out of the office and was intercepted from greeting Kurt and maybe laying a hard kiss on his lips because Kurt + flannel = really fucking cute. Burt didn't need to be some youngster to know the look in Sam's eyes as he was gawking at his son's ass bent over the car. The car was repaired, and even given a free vacuuming and a half-off deal on an oil change. His mother was ecstatic. Sam had had to excuse himself to his room because the image of fucking Kurt over the engine of that gorgeous car, yanking at that flannel shirt and rubbing slick oil through his hair and over his skin in dirty, naughty movements was – ugh.

Sam realized that probably wasn't the best thing to be thinking about as he approached the sidelines. Getting a hard on in front of Kurt's dad while thinking about fucking his son? Probably not the brightest idea. Burt was standing, arms folded, at the base of the bleachers, glaring at him. Carol, though, was positively beaming and before Burt could say a thing, her mouth was running off.

"Oh Kurt, who's this? Oh, look at his hair! Look at his face, oh my goodness, you're adorable!" Carol practically gushed as she came down to them, "I'm Carol Hudson, Finn Hudson's mother, soon to be Kurt's step-mother." At the last two words, Sam's eyes flashed to the rather glitzy, yet strangely simple and elegant ring that was on her left hand. He didn't miss the way she wriggled her fingers at him.

"And you are?" Burt interjected before Sam could take Carol's hand. Any elation Sam had felt quietly melted and he felt Kurt squeeze his opposite hand.

"Sam Hudson – I mean Hummel – I mean Evans. Jeez. Too many names." Sam tripped over his words in a flurry as Burt thrust out his hand. The grip was hard. Manly. Maybe even threatening? A warning. Sam would be sure to listen if Burt decided to be vocal about it later.

"Now listen Sam, you said? Evans?" Or maybe now.

"Yes."

"C'mere, we're going to talk."

"But half-time's almost-"

"It'll only take a moment."

"Dad, stoppit! You can't go scaring off everyone I meet. You didn't get like this when I was around Brittany!" Kurt protested as Burt slung an arm around Sam's shoulders. Kurt's ran a hand through his hair, the free hand balled into a fist on his hip.

"Brittany didn't count, even you knew that. I just want to talk with him." Burt assured his son with a look that Sam could have said was innocent until it turned on him. Kurt let go of Sam's hand as he was taken away and Sam sent him a hurried look, almost desperate. Kurt watched, amused.

"Alright Evans. I need you to know a few things-" Burt started as they rounded about the bleachers, but Sam cut him off hurriedly,

"Mr. Hummel? ...Or sir? Listen, you seem like a really scary dude and like you'd probably own a cellar of guns or something, but you need to listen to me when I say I really, really like Kurt," Sam's words began to pour from his mouth like a broken fountain, and he just hoped his word fumbling wouldn't kick in and he would end up spouting something else that was either offensive or got his ass kicked, "I mean, he's really hot, like smokin' hot," Sam didn't miss the furrow that grew deeper in Burt's brow, "But he's so... god, you're son's amazing. He's so funny and so sweet, and he dresses so nice, and he's got to be one of the most self-righteous people I know and he knows what he wants and what he needs and how to stand up for himself and he's got this voice and I'd never hurt him, I promise and... and... and, uh..."

Burt was staring at him like he might have two heads, but the dark cloud in his eyes had disappeared. Kurt might not have Burt's eyes, but that had that same crinkle that occurred around them when they smiled.

"I'm rambling." Sam realized he hadn't taken a breath in about the last minute, panting, cheeks flushed.

"And I approve."

"... huh?"

"I was going to pull out the cellar of guns on you, but it seems you understand that," Burt clapped him on the shoulder and Sam blinked, startled, "But most importantly, you care for my son. That's all I need to know." Sam grinned nervously and Burt returned the smile, only more confident. The hand on his shoulder, though, tightened not even a second later, "But understand, I might not have a cellar of guns, but I do have a shotgun in the attic."

Sam let Burt walk past him, and he could see the smirk out of the corner of his eye. He stood there for a long moment, just breathing as the horn went off, signaling the end of half time. It startled him from his reverie and Sam pumped his fist in the air, letting out a whoop as he turned about and jogged out from behind the bleachers. Kurt was waving to Carol as she and Burt headed back up the bleacher steps to take their seats again.

"Hey." Kurt raised a brow at him as he approached. Very Burt-like in Sam's opinion.

"I'm not dead. It's a start," Sam chuckled, pulling Kurt in by the waist and brought him in for another swift kiss, "Next touchdown I make is for you." Kurt laughed, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

"Cliché Evans, cliché."

"You love it, don't lie."

"I suppose," Kurt teased and Sam pulled his helmet over his head, slapping it down, "Now go win that game." Kurt smacked his ass as he jogged away and it was Sam's turn to blush. Okay, so, he'd survived Burt Hummel and Kurt was successfully wooed and Sam was so very, very happy. Sam felt on top of the world as he took his place in the field.

It made it all the better knowing tomorrow would be even better.

Reviews are love.