Title: Predatory

Written by: Sano

Pairings: Hints of hevans, klaine

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Spoilers for S2E17 and some Blaine-hate

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, if I did it then it wouldn't be fit for family tv.

Summary: Sam Evans gets advice from a very unlikely source.

Author's notes: Was written while waiting for 'Rumours' to finish downloading.


Predatory

Sam was picking up salt-water taffy wrappers off the floor after the New Directions' benefit night. Becky's spot only had a few but the amount of wrappers on Jacob Israel's chair had the blond jock wincing at the thought of the amount of candy in the jewish creeper's system. It was enough to make anyone go on a candy-induced high for the next week.

He was picking up an empty box of Kentucky Fried chicken near Azimio's spot (wonder where he got that?) and a pile of wadded up tissues where Sandy Ryerson sat before when he heard the sound of tinkling laughter near the door. He looked up and saw Kurt and Blaine talking with Rachel and Mercedes, the former Glee clubber laughing at whatever Mercedes said with such abandon that Sam almost wanted to be in on the joke.

He resumed his cleaning, the other guys taking down the stage designs while the girls were backstage clearing out the costumes. He heard Kurt laugh again and he couldn't resist raising his eyes to see him smile.

His stomach dropped when Kurt placed a hand over Blaine's forearm as he talked, and the lead Warbler chimed in, his other hand casually wrapping over Kurt's own. Sam shook his head, forcing his brain to erase the scene before him.

Why the hell was he so scattered where Kurt was concerned? Yeah, he was hurt when the other boy cancelled their duet, and yes, he was totally bummed when Kurt decided to transfer to Dalton.

Kurt Hummel was his friend, no matter that they've exchanged only a few words in Glee club while he was still in McKinley. The countertenor always made him feel at ease whenever he was in the same room, and never ridiculed him like the other kids did.

But he wasn't gay, Sam told himself. He was just very… protective… of Kurt.

He only looked at Kurt as a friend. He called him 'dude' and was totally comfortable with talking to him in the locker room showers, and he would totally do that with all of his friends, despite the fact that they would accuse him of sneaking a peek at their junk.

No big deal.

And he never had dreams of Kurt's performance of 'Le Jazz Hot.' That was just the musician in him appreciating a great performance.

He didn't have feelings for Kurt.

But he did get into a fight with Karofsky because of Kurt… but really he was just helping Artie and Mike out.

And he totally didn't imagine Kurt placing the ice bag over his eye instead of Quinn back then.

Even if he'd transferred to Dalton he was still part of New Directions. The uniforms sucked ass but Kurt looked awesome in them, although not as awesome when he wore his carefully-chosen outfits to school.

Especially the skinny jeans, it was hard to imagine how Kurt got into those things without having all of the Warblers help him.

Nope, Sam wasn't gay.

Even if Sam's thoughts of helping the smaller boy out of those sinfully-tight jeans weren't helping matters much.

The internal debate was starting again and he instantly felt a headache coming on. Sam always thought in two perspectives, like the Angel and the Devil, only Batman was the voice of reason while the Flash was the wild canon that always played on his desires.

Both with blond hair and his trademark lips, and the costumes complete down to the last detail.

Batman always said that Kurt wasn't someone he should get involved with, not only was he another boy but being near Kurt would hurt his carefully-established reputation.

Meanwhile, the Flash always said that Kurt was so incredibly hot and awesome that he should take the necessary steps to getting his trouty lips attached to Kurt's.

You wouldn't want 'that' to happen again, Batman would whisper in his gravelly voice.

Look what happened at your old school.

It's always better to follow what your heart desires, Flash would exclaim while flitting around in his head.

Or you'll lose him. Sam glanced up and saw Blaine brush a piece of lint off Kurt's coat, and again Flash piped up, or maybe you already did.

The two started arguing again.

Don't put nonsense into his-

I don't understand why you wouldn't just-

There are plenty of women arou-

Nothing should stand in the way of happi-

"You should hurry up, you know." The voices in his head ceased as Sam looked over his shoulder at Sandy Ryerson, who was uncomfortably close, and the jock panicked at the notion that he'd been thinking so much of Kurt that he hadn't even noticed.

"What?"

Sandy sighed and tapped down the few remaining hairs on his head in place, "You should make a move now. I'm what someone would call predatory gay, and I know a look of longing if I ever saw one."

Sam panicked for a second before schooling his expression into his usual dumb jock look. "I'm not gay."

"I never said you were." Sandy's smile lasted only two seconds, and it looked like a grin that a serial killer would wear. He glanced over at the two boys, "Something that fabulous and fine is such a waste on that ill-mannered hobbit."

"You got it all wrong, I don't like Kurt." Sam protested.

"Well, if you say so." Sandy fished something out of his coat pocket and placed it into Sam's hand. The teenage boy looked down and saw bold letters spelling out 'The Chronic Lady' with a phone number at the bottom engraved into expensive pink cardboard paper.

"If you ever get tired of mooning over Hummel and want to take on a real gay man, just call me." Patting Sam on the shoulder, Sandy left the auditorium in a cloud of expensive perfume.

Sam didn't hesitate and crumpled the card in his fist, throwing it into the trash bag and he glanced up again at the doorway where Mercedes and Rachel were waving at the two boys as they went home, with Kurt's arm wrapping around Blaine's.

For the 100th time that day Sam told himself that he wasn't gay.

He was just head over heels in love with Kurt Hummel.

The End


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