Shanghai'd!

Or

The Pep Squad Press Ganging Of Kurt Hummel And Blaine Anderson

Author's Note: Spoilers! Absolutely spoilers for the first episode of the third season of Glee (which I do not own). If you have remained unspoiled to this point, do not read this until Wednesday.

And yes, I know that Sue's presumably not going to be working at McKinley with her political campaign and all, but I had a story I wanted to write that wouldn't leave me alone, so go with it.

Shanghai-ing: the practice of conscripting men as sailors through means coercive and/or intimidating.

Whatever Kurt had expected when he wished for his boyfriend to leave his privileged prep school education behind in favor of joining him at one of Ohio's more dubious public schools, it had not been this.

Not that he was complaining.

Resplendent in cropped red jeans and a tight black polo, new student Blaine Anderson was treating the courtyard steps of William McKinley High School as his own personal playground and the Cheerios as his delightedly willing backup dancers. Kurt had never particularly thought of any Tom Jones song as sexy – it was more something his stepmother's generation was into, maybe – but with Blaine up there shaking his unabashed hips while he belted out "It's Not Unusual," he was reconsidering his opinion.

Kurt practically felt his eyes going all hearts and stars as he watched.

He was a touch concerned with Blaine's frankly naïve assumption that this would spare him the ritual Slushie Facial that Kurt had warned him about. No doubt, this was a hot, hot, hot spectacle, but it was also exactly the sort of thing that Azimio saw as a personal threat to his comfort and sexuality, Cheerios or not. And he was there, lurking on the edges of the crowd, making some kind of joke that had the rest of the offensive line meatheads guffawing in derision.

No matter, Kurt told himself. It would be fine. Having spent the entire summer systematically divesting himself of his flawed perception that he was about as sexual as a fuzzy infant Antarctic waterfowl, Kurt felt he was more than equipped to rid his boyfriend of all traces of Slushie. With his tongue, if necessary. It did after all just get everywhere, it was important to be thorough in Slushie cleanup.

Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel wasn't thorough.

So engrossed was he in contemplating all of the skin a cherry flavored Slushie could cover that Kurt didn't hear Coach Sylvester approach until it was far, far too late. "Porcelain. Is that your boyfriend up there gyrating like a bad Elvis impersonator at a Vegas wedding?"

Only very great self control kept a high pitched meep of surprise from accompanying his less controlled startled jump. "Coach Sylvester. As ninjalike as always. Hello, yes, that's Blaine."

"That's the same boy you were with that day you so bitterly disappointed me before Regionals, is it not?" Coach Sylvester squinted into the sun that backlit the all-singing, all-dancing Tom Jones tribute festival on the steps. "Of course that's the same boy. It would be difficult to forget anyone that uses more product than Will Schuester." She snorted derisively before allowing herself a slight shudder of disgust. "Terrifying."

Kurt leveled an unamused and slightly bitchy gaze on the cheerleading coach, marveling briefly at the fact that he knew he was one of a very small number of people who could even remotely get away with doing so. "Can I help you, Coach Sylvester?"

"Yes and no." She jabbed a finger towards where Blaine and Santana, now having completed their performance, were leaning on each other and laughing uproariously. "I want you and Mighty Mouse over there on my Cheerios."

"Not interested." Kurt avoided looking at the coach as he waved and beamed a smile at his adorable boyfriend. "Been there, done that."

"Now, Porcelain, I'm afraid after you two so selfishly turned your back on me in my hour of need, you owe me, and this is how you're going to repay it."

He felt her gimlet glare through the aviators she'd just slipped on, and repressed a shiver of atavistic fear. "No, I was there for you in your hour of need when your sister passed on. That is a need. I don't consider you asking me to help you destroy New Directions as a need so much as a deeply, deeply misplaced desire to hurt Mr. Schuester no matter what collateral damage occurs." Kurt dared to slide a haughty look of moral superiority over at the woman, though it did still frighten him just a bit to do so.

A crafty grin twisted Coach Sylvester's lips. "All right. So you want to bargain. I don't think I have to remind you that I can offer you and Owen Meany a guaranteed solo spotlight all the way up to and including Nationals?"

Kurt forced his eyes forward. "I'm auditioning for the school musical, which is going to be overseen by as objective a board of directors as I could ask for. I'm sure I'll get a very good part."

A huffy sigh let him know he'd won that round, but Sue Sylvester was nothing if not persistent when she really wanted something. "You're looking a little stiff in the joints. You know my regime can restore your flexibility to levels Kim Zmeskal would envy. I'm sure PeeWee would appreciate that."

"I took up yoga," he countered coolly. "And I'd like to point out that insulting my boyfriend is hardly a way to convince me to hear you out."

"Terms of endearment." She waved a hand. "Fine. You leave me no choice: I know you want to go to a performing arts college in New York City. I'll have you know I send freshman dance students to Tisch every year. They leapfrog right over the competition at evaluation panels. Literally – I taught them well. I've got two former Cheerios ready to graduate this spring." She leaned over, her raspy voice grating right into his ear. "I can make it happen for you, Porcelain. I can get you a spot at the vocal evaluation panel. I just need you for one more year. One more Nationals win."

And that was all it took. Kurt belonged to Coach Sylvester in that moment and he knew it. He and Rachel had spent what free summer time wasn't being used to further their sexual educations to investigate admissions at Julliard, Tisch, and a handful of other performing arts schools in the New York City area. It had been a disheartening experience that left them in tears on more than one occasion. If Coach Sylvester could help him past that bump in the road, he'd don breathable polyblend and happily belt a Kylie Minogue medley extravaganza from the top of a human pyramid, no questions asked.

However. "Fine. You've got me, but that won't work on Blaine. Why do you want him, anyway?"

"He's got my girls eating out of the palm of his hand," Sue pointed out, gesturing at the cloud of cooing cheerleaders surrounding Blaine and Santana. "Including Santana Lopez. Santana. I've spent the last four years systematically stripping her of any semblance of heart and soul she ever had, and it's not like she had much to begin with. Beyond that, I had my gaydar surgically enhanced in Guatemala." If the woman noticed Kurt's incredulous stare, she was refusing to acknowledge it. "That girl is one flannel shirt and a pair of Birkenstocks away from reviving Lilith Fair all by herself, and your bitsy boy toy's got her wrapped around his miniscule pinkie." The aviators had slipped down, and Kurt could see her eyes glazed over in avarice. "Imagine what he could do if he turned that charm onto an audience."

"I see." And he did, but even so, it wasn't up to him to decide this for Blaine. "Well, I'm not his keeper. His record is impeccable, schools will clamor to have him. He's not going for performing arts, so how do you intend to sell him on this?"

"Oh, Porcelain. Just because you no longer find me terrifying – which I will take care of, let me assure you – doesn't mean that Teddy Ruxpin there won't." She raised her voice. "Santana! Haul your funbags over here and bring Pocket Rocket with you."

"Coach Sylvester, he is really not that short," Kurt hissed. She continued to ignore him.

"Listen up, short stack," she ordered as Blaine and Santana approached. "I got leggy girl cheerleaders out the wazoo – as you know, since you appropriated them for a spectacle more laden with rainbows and glitter than a San Francisco Pride Parade – but not a one of them has charisma." She leaned over and poked a stunned Blaine in the arm. "You, though, seem to be hiding a limitless supply of it in that shellacked skullcap of yours, and I want it on my squad."

Blaine looked like he'd been hit in the back of the head. "What? I don't -" He ping-ponged a bewildered gaze between Kurt and Santana, trying to understand. Kurt shook his head minutely. Santana rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to object.

Sue cut her off right away. "I'm done with you, Bubbles McGee. Go play another game of Pin The Nipple On The Plastic Surgery Victim."

"I'm deeply confused," Blaine spoke up as Santana stomped off. The look on his face was one that Kurt had dubbed 'Blaine's Full Facial Cringe'. It was an expression that had heretofore been reserved for ranch-flavored Corn Nuts, conversations with Burt Hummel, and those unfortunate occasions when Finn took his sneakers off in the Hummel-Hudson living room while Blaine was visiting. The sight of it made Kurt sigh and take pity on his poor beleaguered boyfriend, who had after all had a very long day already with his transfer and now had to deal with this.

"Coach Sylvester wants us on the Cheerios, Blaine," he explained gently. "It could be a lot of fun. You're energetic and cheerful, and you like performing for screaming crowds. Plus you and Santana get along – God knows why, but whatever – and you and I would be performing together again. That would be great, right?"

Blaine still didn't seem to have regained full control of his mental faculties. "You're asking me to be a cheerleader?"

"On a six time National champion squad, no less." Sue sounded almost affronted at Blaine's dubious tone. "It's a great privilege. Offers many perks. Tanning beds, discounts at Academy Sports, freedom from Slushie Facials."

"Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't be Slush-"

"Please, Tiny Tim. Do you see Azimio Adams out here? No, you do not. That would be because he is right at this very moment filling a plastic cup with processed sugar by-product so that he can dump it on your overzealously gelled head. I can protect you from that."

Blaine glanced over at Kurt, who nodded soberly. "I tried to tell you, Blaine."

"But I don't want -"

"Come on, Blaine. It's one year, it's another thing that'll look good on your applications," Kurt pointed out, leaving off the and I promise she will not leave us alone until she gets her way that he desperately wanted to include. Blaine looked shell-shocked enough. "Do it for me?"

He hated to push Blaine when his boyfriend was still clearly trying to find his footing, but Coach Sylvester was relentless and they might as well get it over with now. Besides, unlike Kurt, Blaine had not taken up yoga, and Kurt was keenly interested to see what the aftereffects of Cheerios Boot Camp would be on his boyfriend. He had some ideas to experiment with if it worked out the way he thought it might.

Sue was bored with all of it. "All right, I'm done pussyfooting around. Legolas, Pippin, report to my office this afternoon for uniform fittings. We're doing this."

"I thought I was Porcelain?" Kurt raised an indignant eyebrow.

"New year, new names." She shrugged. "See you after school. And by the way, Topsider," A glance flicked down to Blaine's cropped jeans and loafered feet. "We like full length trousers at this school. And socks. Oh, and let's compromise on the hair gel: you'll never use it again."

Blaine was taken aback. "How is that a compromise?"

"It's a compromise in that I'm letting you keep your hair at all."

With that, the juggernaut that was Sue Sylvester motored off, snapping abuse at a cowering Jacob Ben-Israel when he tried to ask her about what had just transpired. Blaine stared after her.

"That...that just happened, didn't it?"

"It did, yes," Kurt confirmed, keeping his eyes focused on looking anywhere but at his boyfriend.

"But I..." Blaine shook his head, still stunned. "I've never even thought about being a cheerleader, Kurt. I'm not very...peppy."

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt looped his arm through Blaine's, beginning a casual saunter out of the courtyard and away from where he could see Azimio returning with a full Slushie cup. "Just do what you did at Dalton. Pretend the cheerleaders are leather couches and you'll be just fine."

It was certainly going to be an interesting senior year, Kurt reflected. With any luck, they'd even survive the experience.

A/N: I can be Slushied at Tumblr - username glass-parade.