— you really took a hit back there, shit.” The back of Lip’s hand swiped down over his mouth, effectively smearing blood down his jaw, but largely back off of his face. “Thanks, man. That was pretty cool.” Fucked out of his mind and drunk beyond belief, his reflexes weren’t up to par and when Preppy Fuck’s beefy friend decided to step in and lay him down, it started off a tag team of rich white kids trying to throw some punches to act like they were real hot shit, when in reality they looked like Scrappy Doo trying to lay a beat down on a teddy bear, with just as much vigor too. But Pride of course has to step in, “Could’a handled it, just got blindsided.” But the slurred speech and mouthful of blood (that was admittedly a very dull pain once the sear had worn off) was only subdued by how deep in the Rabbit Hole he was.
“Fuck you got a real fist on you. Where the fuck’d you learn to fight like that?” Which sounded an awful lot like ‘when the fuck have you ever raised a fist in your entire life? did yo go to a public preschool or something?’ Because the guy in front of him looked just like the rest for the most part. Over the course of the evening he’d become to come undone and Lip only knew because the tell tale signs. He was rumbled over, something spilt on his pants, hair coming done from whatever product he’d used. He looked like exactly what Harvard embodied, maybe a little shorter with too much life in his eyes. “Why’d you do it?” Did he have something on him? Was this the ‘you owe me’ part? Nothing in this world came without a price, so what was he going to have to pay to make whatever future problem go away before it started. Was he looking to score for free and thought it would would be easier? See how much power he could exert upon the unsuspecting fish out of water?
“I’ve got no doubt in my mind you might’ve been able to handle it.” Might being the objective word here. Which was Blaine’s way of gently saying there was no way in hell you could’ve without putting the guy further on the spot than the rumpled up drunken stumble, split lip and what looked like the beginning of a bruise along his right eye already did. By the looks of it? The stranger didn’t need much help in drawing attention to himself. Not with the crowd at this kind of party. Just happened to be the attention he was drawing? Wasn’t the best sort. About as far away from best sort as you could get. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the curb, Blaine attempted to catch his breath and rub away the warm ache flooding into his knuckles after the adrenaline started to wear off. The punches he did take? None really connected with his face but a slap did. Can you believe it? A slap. The guy slapped him. The hit to his stomach though? At least he got credit for being able to take one to the gut from the guy he stepped into help. Cause that one hurt.
Flashbacked to the moment where he realized he had to help, Blaine’s scoff and shake of his head was all Lip got for a pause as the surprise on the guys faces came to mind. They couldn’t believe one of their own was turning on them. But when one of your own was on the receiving end of a beat down like that once before? By guys oddly like the ones that decided to throw fists at Lip, mind you? Priorities became very clear via Blaine’s fist introducing itself to one of his kind’s face. “Thanks. Um. Boxing training and teaching myself, I guess?” Snapping out of it, a curious hazel stare met Lip’s face as Blaine looked up from his spot on the concrete. “Because that many on one isn’t very fair. Figured I would help you balance out the odds a little bit? Cause you could barely stagger your way out of the kitchen a half an hour ago. Oh! That reminds me. You’re welcome for being used as a push off to propel yourself down the hall,” he grinned teasingly, “I don’t think centrifugal force was going to help you win a fist fight though.”
On his hands. On his knees. His chin. Inside his mouth. Coating his teeth and tongue in a taste that went beyond sweet, beyond intoxicating and dug deep into his soul as his hunger was sated and the pain began to fade. He’d fallen with his victim, crouched in the dark alley between the docks. Around them the air was thick with seaweed, dead fish and damp. The muck underneath his expensive trousers was seeping between the threads and he could feel press cold against his skin. What he didn’t swallow still dribbled out of the holes he made with his teeth. Blaine’s hand lifted up, his upturned palm pressed between his lips parted his jaw and made the sharp edges dig into his flesh. Crimson lines ran down the neck he stared at mixed with the rainwater and muck that made the scenery all too perfect for his crime.
Adam had wanted to make the experience pleasurable. A lie that might disguise what he’d done seem beautiful and soft. The pitiful human who easily gave themselves over to Adam’s old world charm. Like he did for so very long. Only he was ‘lucky’ enough not to die for his yielding. His talent, companionship and beauty, as Adam put it, sparing him his life and from becoming another heap of bones forgotten at the bottom of the Hudson River. So, he ran. Trying to escape the hunger and the pain and smell of the drunken man Adam steered into the room he’d been balled up in the corner of. He ran and ran until a hum, clink, hum, clink stopped him in his tracks.
The hammer swung up and crashed down. Up and down. Oil burned from lamps inside the blacksmith’s rickety bayside shop. But the usually pungent smell was lost on the whiff of something far more alluring. Copper and sweet cream. Damnation and relief. They screamed inside Blaine’s veins before clamping into them with nails and claws tearing him apart and tugging him inside. A pair of dark eyes peering above puffy, dirty cheeks greeted him with a confused but welcoming smile. Everything faded. A scream brought him back long enough that he registered they were running. Then everything went upside down and pitch black as ecstasy ran into his mouth and he pulled and pulled and pulled.
The blacksmith was dead. Vacant eyes stared up at him, mouth contorted in a final howl that his ears refused to hear. Blaine choked. He felt sick. “No, no, no, no,” frantic hands began to squeeze at the man’s neck trying to stop what was left. A stupid and fruitless attempt to right his wrong. A snap of bone and he wrenched his hand free, staring at it like something that strong couldn’t possibly belong to him. “No, please,” and he lurched forward only to be snapped backwards, feet lifting off the ground with the speed of his backwards trajectory. Terrified as he was turned around, the sight of Adam kicked a sob from his gut and he pointed down at the body, eyes screaming see what you made me do?
How they ended up kissing, Blaine was sure it was his doing. A soft touch to his cheek and his heart broke in two. The only thing he wanted was the taste gone and Adam to swallow up his world, take that sight away, make him forget. He was good still. Not the monster on his knees trying to dig out a shred of life from the mud and somehow smash it back inside the man he murdered. Their mouths moved with a familiar cadence, his opened for Adam to kiss him deeper like he had a many times before. Like nothing bad ever happened, like Blaine needed him. And he did..oh God..he did.
I would say that since Season 2 is my default verse, at that point in time, it would be the fact that he feels responsible for the boy who he asked to the dance being hurt. Him and this other kid were the only out people in that school and Blaine was the one to ask him to Sadie Hawkins. While the ignorance of the boys who jumped them and ‘beat the crap outta them’ is to blame, Blaine and his nature would not see it that way. He took the responsibility of being the one to initiate such a bold move for the two of them. I can imagine that after the bullying he talks about, that boy underwent the same bullying and might’ve had hesitations, but for Blaine it was a way to stand up, have faith that they could do this and maybe change people’s minds, and have the courage to enjoy themselves in spite of the awful things they were going through. They went and ended up in the hospital for Blaine’s hopefulness and he feels awful that the boy will be stuck with the same doubt and nightmares that he has because of it.
There’s no other mention of that boy in the entire series (though sometimes I like to headcanon that his name was Eli and a couple years later might’ve talked again..ahem) and with the way Blaine hangs onto people he cares about? It must have created a deep enough rift between them that they never see one another again after Blaine transfers. Though I have about a dozen reasons and theories why that happened in my head if anyone’s interested to chat about it!
Blaine was visibly shaking–hands constantly wringing together as he stood staring down at the body laid out on the floor. Unable to look away, he shook his head and tried to step around her like he was told to do. A stumbling attempt but he caught up to Quinn blindly, gaze locked behind his shoulder now. That was his problem. ‘Step around it.’ Sure, this wasn’t the first corpse he’s seen. Living in this nightmare–any time they stepped out of the camp–it was impossible not to see the broken shells of people littering the city or town or what felt like EVERYWHERE you looked. Sometimes he could focus on the task at hand long enough to only get queasy or not feel anything at all (a rarity..but it happened a couple times?). Others? Others were like now. It’d be so much easier if he could be like Quinn. Think of them as ‘it’ and they cease to be a reason to give a second thought past the mission and what was truly important. He was trying. He just..couldn’t. That level of disconnect wasn’t in his reach yet.
“She looks like someone..” He couldn’t bring himself to say who. “I need to get out of here.”
He knew some people found his line of work to be… it was hard to stomach. And the speedster understood that, there were moments when his day job could get to him more than his work as the Flash. Sometimes the two would over like, and it would make him feel like he’d drowning–losing his footing. With time came a a sort of balance. Work as a CSI was not glamorous, and it would never be. “It does get hard, I won’t lie, there are some cases that can dig under my skin,” he admitted, moving to press a soft kiss to his lips. “But this is my job, I started doing this to find out the truth about my mother’s murder. And it’s why I keep doing it. To find the truth, and provide answers,” he knew it was hard to understand. But that was okay, he didn’t explain to completely comprehend it. Now he was far too curious, he wanted to know what happened, and it seemed like Blaine might be willing to share. Although if Barry notices that it bothers him, the speedster would probably stop him. Barry found himself smiling at the other’s condition for telling him. He briefly nuzzles his neck, humming softly; “I can’t promise anything, but I will try to come to you first– if things ever do get bad.”
“I know it gets hard,” Blaine tried to reassure him by capturing the CSI’s hand in both of his and grazing each side of his thumbs back and forth over the pale skin underneath their olive toned edges. “Just know that I’m here for you, okay? No matter what.” Barry’s nightmares weren’t all because of his past. Blaine knew that. Even though the other was doing his best to not make Blaine worry by using that reason on repeat–he couldn’t fully believe that nothing Barry dealt with on a day to day basis wasn’t a cause, too. Or–at least a twist of the handle that opened up the nightmares lurking behind the door to Barry’s childhood. For now–he’d let it be. Drawing in a slow breath, Blaine rested his cheek against the edge of Barry’s shoulder and shrugged both of his. “You know the worst part? My story isn’t far from hundreds of other kids’ stories from Everywhere, USA and beyond. I’m not saying mine is any worse or better. Just..something that never should have to be anything anyone has to face and that there are still kids out there forced to.”
A sweep of his tongue over his bottom lip and he feigned a smile.
“It was a long time ago, okay? Remember that. Because I do,” he trailed off for a beat or two and then picked back up, “I switched schools because what didn’t work out at my old school was me being gay. It was Ohio and a pretty small place. I didn’t hide it. Not after my Dad found out and eventually it got around the whole school. When a particular crowd of boys found out about it? You sure you’re okay hearing this? I don’t want to upset you,” pausing to dart a glance up–Blaine paused to give Barry a measuring squint unsure if he wanted him to continue or not.
pianokeysandbowties back up 