|The Trouble With Cats
Author: Alex Whitehall PM
When Blaine is bullied into buying a cat, he gets more than he's expecting with the tenacious Holt. But with a little care and an open mind, he might be able to find love with the shape shifter. M/MRated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Supernatural - Chapters: 4 - Words: 13,481 - Reviews: 26 - Favs: 112 - Follows: 13 - Updated: 01-14-10 - Published: 01-04-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2760122
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Music to My Ears
As the band was finishing up their last set, Holt and Blaine made their way along the edge. The audience barely gave them a second glance, too engrossed in what was happening on the stage. Holt flashed a smile to the hands working the barrier and they let him pass, not bothering to check his ID. Once through, cooler air rushed over them. Blaine shivered, pulling the leather-clad boy to him, making walking very awkward as arms snagged around his chest and waist, fingers exploring the skin that peaked through the purposefully gashed shirt.
"You're going to make me late," he purred as Blaine's lips started sucking on his neck.
"Mmm," he murmured, "just a little."
Holt twisted in his arms, grasping Blaine's face and kissing him heatedly, grinding their bodies together for one long and enjoyable moment, then he jumped back, grinning, his hair looking even more sexed and darted down the hall to the side door that led to the stage. Blaine sighed, watching his slender body move, then turned and went back outside, standing with the hands and waiting.
The band had finished their song and was egging on the fans, who were getting rowdy. Holt ambled on stage, as if he belonged there, and the leader singer spotted him, waving him over with drunken enthusiasm. He looped an arm jovially around Holt's shoulder, grinning out to the crowd. Holt was at least four inches shorter, even with his clunky boots on, but his body radiated sex appeal that even the band couldn't compare to.
"This'ere's Oliver and 'e writes music, 'ah!" The crowd cheered, even though none of them really knew that 'Oliver' was the one who wrote the band's music. "And you're in for a special treat, 'cause'e's gonna perform a song nerver before heard, eh, Oliver?"
Holt nodded, a playful grin splaying his face. He took the mic from the lead singer, his other hand brushing up, stroking the bruises Blaine had just left, and the grin broadened. Casting a glance back to the band he gave a little nod.
The lights switched to all blue, with a single purple shining down on Holt, making him a shadow of straight lines and wild hair. A flickering drum began, joined in unison by a guitar and a violin (a hidden talent of the lead singer). It built a haunting intensity. And then he sang.
His voice, speaking, was smooth like milk, clinging to you just as much, staining your mind with memories of wanting more. Blaine had never heard Holt sing (those moments that he 'sang' in bed didn't entirely count, did they?), but he hadn't been surprised when Holt had told him he was singing that night. God, was it beautiful. It wasn't the sound of angels, but of incubi who could make you hard with a smile and come with a whisper.
I've been waiting for you
wild, feral and alone,
clawing at my bitter heart
to get a taste of bone.
I struck out,
you held me down,
we tumbled about
round and round.
There was no reason to trust you
with your aching smile
and lonely eyes
that I thought to despise.
But you let me go free
trapping my heart
with your confused trickery.
I struck out
you let me go
I stumbled away
Now I've got you clinging
to me like cellophane
stretching wide around
my proverbial six-inch cane.
Tease me with your touches
douse me with your love
make me want to come again
and I will be your love.
I lick south,
you hold me down,
we tumble about
round and round.
Blaine watched, listening to the lyrics as Holt prowled across the stage, a smile sneaking onto his face. He cut along the sidewall, sneaking up the stagehand steps to linger in the shadows as the final verses played. The audience was excited, to say the least. Whether it was the lyrics, his voice, or his sex-drenched appearance, Holt had them howling.
For his part, after he'd finished, Holt bowed and walked off center stage his green eyes glowing in the dim light as he found his way to Blaine. Their sweaty bodies smashed together, fingers creeping along waistlines, up backs and across shoulders as they shared a gentle kiss. "You were brilliant."
"Happy birthday," Holt whispered against his lips, tongue flicking out to tease along the lower.
Blaine captured it, deepening the kiss, unaware that the band was marching off stage to the cheers and shouts of the crowd. Holt purred, pressing tighter, thigh slipping between his as one hand lifted to tangle in his hair. As the drummer was passing, he slapped him in the back.
"Fuckin' grand, Olie."
Holt shook his head with a laugh, "Of course it was, I wrote it."
The drummer laughed and caught up to his mates. Blaine kissed his lover's lower lip, "They're going to want more of you now. Now that they've seen what you can do."
"So?" He bit Blaine's upper lip, grinning as he pulled away with a snap, "When have I ever done what people wanted?"
His hand slid down, grabbing Holt's ass and pulling it to him, "Does that mean you're not going to fuck me like I really need?"
Gasping, Holt flung his arms around his shoulders, one leg hooking over his hip, "Needs are different from wants," the other leg shifted, swinging around the other hip. "I need you," his lips attached to his neck, moaning softly, "just as badly."
Blaine turned, pressing Holt against the wall, making him purr as they ground together, "Can you wait for home?" He wasn't sure he could.
A noise escaped his throat that made Blaine think his little kitten couldn't either.
"Think anyone would notice here?" his breath hot in Holt's ear.
"Yorkie's got a room in back. He'll be in Claire's. Take me there."
Blaine grinned, nipping the well-pierced ear, "My pleasure."