fakeplasticsnow | Chances are your chances are awfully good

Title: More Fun Than Your Right Hand
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Mike
Rating: PG-13 (because I somehow managed to write a fic with handcuffs, masturbation jokes, and "Red Light Special," but no sexytimes!)
Words: 4,109
Genre: slash
Summary: Kurt is handcuffed to Mike Chang. It's not as kinky as it sounds.
Timeline: Valentine's Day, post-Sectionals
A/N: Very loosely based on one of my all-time favorite movies, Before Sunrise. But with handcuffs. (And also, angels! Sort of.)
Featured song: "Red Light Special" - TLC

Kurt is handcuffed to Mike Chang.

...It's not as kinky as it sounds.

"Are you a freaking idiot or something?" Kurt screams at Brittany, before belatedly realizing that it's a stupid question. He's worn out from all the yelling and (mostly one-handed) flailing and foot-stomping he's been doing for the last two minutes.

"Whoa, dude, I got the message the first time," Mike says. "You'd rather be stuck in an elevator full of Tibetan monks than be handcuffed to me, I get it."

"It's nothing personal, I'm sure you're a perfectly nice guy, but these asinine Valentine's Day shenanigans are a waste of time for all parties involved."

Brittany actually looks sad. Even the angel wings strapped to her back appear to have lost some of their sparkle. "Well, I thought you two would look cute together. I thought really hard about the matches I was going to make today."

"We are not your playthings!"

"And I'm pretty sure the only thing you 'thought' about was that Kurt's locker and mine are next to each other," Mike adds.

"Fine." She rummages through her bag, and then: "Oh."

"Oh?" Kurt repeats.

"I...the key. It's not here."

Kurt seriously hates Valentine's Day. Hates it.

"Calm down, Kurt," Mike says slowly. His free hand hovers near Kurt's shoulder like he's about to pat it, but upon seeing Kurt's scowl, Mike instantly drops his hand back to his side. He turns to Brittany. "Can you find it by the end of the day?"

She nods. "I'll call you guys when I do." She rushes past them, stops, and adds, "Happy Valentine's Day!" before disappearing around the corner.

Kurt stares at the ceiling. "Why, God? Why?"

"Because Brittany thought we'd look cute? Because our lockers are next to each other?"

"It was a rhetorical question."

"I know. Just trying to help."

"Nothing will help." Right after saying that, Kurt only feels worse, because it's not like Mike did anything to deserve his wrath, other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. "...I'm sorry, V-Day makes me cranky and being chained to a stranger isn't exactly an improvement."

"I'm Mike Chang, by the way."

"I know who you are," he says. "We just haven't talked much."

"Well, I guess we have a chance to now?"

He looks down glumly at the handcuffs. To further rub salt in the wound, they're tacky red plastic handcuffs, with white hearts printed on them. Kurt spent four whole hours selecting the perfect all-black outfit to wear in protest of this annual commercialized dumbing down of love (Hallmark is an evil mega-corporation that owns the world, Kurt's sure of it), but it's ruined now, because: tacky red plastic handcuffs attached to some guy in a heinous cheesefest of a red sweater that Brittany probably forced him to wear.

The bell rings.

"We could try breaking it since it's just plastic, but Brittany would probably burst into tears," Mike says. "What's your first class?"

"Geometry with Mrs. Vazquez. Don't you have class, too?"

"Don't worry about it. Nothing I can't catch up on."

Kurt tries but mostly fails to smile at him. "Thanks, Mike."

When they enter the classroom, Mrs. Vazquez chuckles. "Now there's a novel way of demonstrating commitment."

"We're not -- he's not my -- I'm just -- Brittany handcuffed us this morning and then lost the key," Kurt stammers. "Totally innocent. You know how Brittany is." He can tell it's the start of what will be an extremely long school day.

To make things worse, when Mrs. V starts her lecture, Kurt remembers that it's his right hand that's cuffed to Mike. His notebook and pen lay on the desk, completely useless. He's about to lift his right hand anyway so he can try to take notes despite the hassle, but Mike reaches over, picks up the pen and starts scribbling notes on the blank page himself.

Kurt's too surprised to do anything but gape stupidly at his notebook, then at Mike, then at his notebook again. Mike's neat, no-frills handwriting and organized notes contrast sharply with the opposite page, which is covered in Kurt's curlicued penmanship and various doodles.

Mike purses his lips, unmindful of anything other than the blackboard and Kurt's notebook. He doesn't even notice how close together their linked arms are, or the way the soft fabric of his Valentine's Cliché red sweater brushes against Kurt's right arm.

When Kurt finally manages to tear his eyes away from Mike's forearm, the page is already full of pointers and diagrams.

"Wow. You're way more useful than my right hand," Kurt says. "...Um, in totally chaste, academic aspects. I mean, I don't, not with my, I actually use my left -- God that whole thing sounded awkward please forget I ever said anything at all." He rubs a hand tiredly over his eyes.

Mike laughs softly. "Hey, you never know." Kurt might have spied a dirty gleam in Mike's eye right then, but it's gone before he can really see it.

Meanwhile, most of Kurt's geometry classmates sneak glances at them when they think Kurt and Mike aren't looking. Kurt sighs. "I'm really sorry about this, Mike."

"Hmm?"

"In your first few hours at school, you've skipped class, taken notes for topics you're not even studying, put up with my endless whining and impotent rage, and now you have to deal with inevitable gay rumors and people looking at us funny. If I could find us a way out of this, I would."

Mike looks up from the notebook to scan the classroom. His cuffed hand moves to rest atop Kurt's. He squeezes.

"...Mike, what are you doing?"

"Act of defiance." He grins.

It's the least Kurt could do to smile back at him this time.

Kurt's utterly worn down by fourth period, with Mr. Schuester being the fourth teacher to take amusement at Kurt and Mike's temporary inseparability.

"We're not -- oh, whatever," Kurt sighs. Mike laughs. Kurt steps on his foot.

If the first four periods weren't bad enough, lunch period is like the Final Boss Battle of it all, because now he's subject to the giddy taunting of his entirely unsympathetic friends.

After a minute of suffering through it, Kurt glares daggers across the table and growls, "I swear to God, Mercedes, if you pinch my cheeks I will bite your freaking hand off."

"Maybe you could try that on your own hand?" Tina suggests, sounding semi-serious. "It's what Anthony Hopkins did in Hannibal to escape. Or maybe he sawed it off, I don't remember."

"Thanks, Tina, but I quite enjoy still having a right hand."

Mike bites back a laugh, because Kurt will never again be able to mention his own right hand in a way that isn't funny to Mike.

"For your information, I use my right hand for writing, typing, combing my hair, flipping through Vogue and playing the piano, so can it, Mike."

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Aww, inside jokes already!" Mercedes coos. "They're like an old married couple."

Kurt narrows his eyes at her.

He eats his lunch of two granola bars and mineral water with relative ease despite today's tacky red inconvenience. Mike, however, finishes his mashed potatoes but struggles with his chicken. Kurt watches him scrape at it uselessly with the knife in his right hand.

"Here, let me." He grabs Mike's fork off the plate and effortlessly shreds the chicken in seconds, then drizzles gravy on top of it. "You learn stuff when it's just you and your dad for Thanksgiving every year," he explains.

Mike opens his mouth wide and looks at Kurt expectantly.

Kurt just sits there, not quite getting it. And when it hits him: "You've got to be shitting me. What are you, five?"

"It's Valentine's Day, and you're holding the fork."

Kurt rolls his eyes but lifts the fork to Mike's mouth anyway, earning him some obnoxious cheering from the rest of the glee club. He maybe sort of enjoys watching Mike's lips linger on the fork for a second too long, but there's no way in hell he'd admit it to anyone.

"It's a mystery that one as irresistibly charming as you is alone on Valentine's Day," he mutters.

"Just waiting for someone special to come along." Mike flashes his most irritating grin ever. "More chicken, please."

They have to stop by Kurt's locker before fifth period so he can get his biology textbooks. By the locker across his, the hot redhead chick from Kurt's art class gets another bouquet of roses from the same guy for the umpteenth time today. Kurt holds down his projectile vomit as he watches them walk hand-in-hand down the hall.

"Oh, is that why you're bitter?"

Kurt snaps back to the present. Mike's standing next to him, watching him curiously.

"No. One, it's way deeper than that. Two, I'm not bitter," Kurt insists. "It might be nice to actually get something for Valentine's Day, but it's not like I'm --"

Before he has a chance to finish that thought, Mike's down on one knee, holding Kurt's cuffed right hand in his. "Today's your lucky day!"

"Why do I have a feeling this is going to be a disaster?" Kurt winces.

Mike ignores him in favor of breaking into an impromptu V-Day a cappella serenade. "Baby it's yours, all yours, if you want it tonight, I'll give you the red light special all through the night..."

"Really, Chang? 'Red Light Special'? This is a bad joke, right?"

It's not, and Mike actually sounds good, in a regrettably heart-melting, make-girls-within-a-six-meter-radius-swoon kind of way ("Come through the door, take off my clothes, and turn on the red light"). A crowd starts to form around them, and Mike still won't let go of Kurt's hand no matter how hard Kurt struggles. Being serenaded with the cheesiest, porniest song in the history of mankind -- it's like Kurt's worst Valentine nightmare, on crack.

But Mike keeps on singing and being annoyingly cute with that goofy smile and cheesy, porny R & B serenade, and there's really nothing for Kurt left to do but cover his face with his hand so people won't see him turn beet red. (And grin just a tiny bit.)

Between his fingers he can see that, for a change, girls are eyeing him enviously rather than the other way around. It's pretty nice.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Kurt!" Mike says, to a round of cheers and applause. "Now you're all out of excuses to hate it. You're welcome."

"You. You are so..." Kurt's at a loss for words, so he just drops the thought. He looks at the crowd. "We're not together, I swear!"

"You know, you remind me of a Taylor Swift song."

Mike lights up. "Highly appealing and marketable?"

"Barftrociously corny. But still kind of sweet."

"I can't believe you actually study during study hall. That's, like, unheard of."

Mike's eyes don't leave his textbook. "It's all about priorities. Getting good grades helps me in the long run. Juvenile pranks, not so much. Peeing into balloons was never my idea of fun, anyway." He shudders. "Unhygienic."

"How do you manage to fit in without joining the other football guys on their...escapades?"

"Well, they're not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed," Mike says. "I have a laundry list of excuses ready at all times: I'm allergic to urine and dumpsters, I have to babysit my neighbor's imaginary friend, I have to do community service at the local library. But I guess for most of them it all just translates to 'gay dudes don't really dig pulling pranks on people.' Like I said, they're not too bright."

"Huh. Wait -- you're...huh. I did not know that."

"Yup."

"You and Brittany seemed close. I always assumed you two were together."

"We're together like Rock Hudson and Doris Day were 'together.'"

"She's your Doris Day? That's adorable. Doris Day is awesome."

Mike nods. "Agreed. And Brittany does a totally winsome 'I Believe in Dreams.'"

"Mercedes is more like the Cristina to my Meredith Grey. Except that I have all of the whining, none of the McDreamy." Kurt flips through the pages of his textbook. "Just me and the indecipherable hieroglyphics they call geometry class. Apologies in advance for any subsequent whining." He stabs at a page with his highlighter.

"Maybe metaphors will help. Look," he says, pointing at the diagrams, "geometry is a love story."

"Ah, yes, the jubilant union of pointlessness and sadism."

"Ha, good point, but no. Math is deliciously dramatic: perpendicular lines that only meet once and never again. Parallel lines, destined to stay apart forever. And when you take up trigonometry, you'll encounter the most tragic of all, asymptotes: they get closer and closer, but they can never be together."

"That brought a tear to my eye, Chang."

"Shut up, it's effective! And you love drama."

"Okay, it'll probably help me remember the concepts," Kurt agrees. He sets his highlighter down on the table. "I wish English were as easy. Can't metaphor your way through it when it's all about words to begin with."

"I didn't think you'd have a problem with English, considering you've got such a way with words."

"It's all instinctive, though. I just read a lot. But studying the actual structure is like pulling teeth."

"Maybe I can help. What are you studying?"

Kurt picks up his English notebook and turns to the last written page. "My notes say 'subjunctive' whatever, I don't know. Mr. Glass talks like the adults in the Peanuts cartoon: 'wah wah waaah wah.'"

"Oh, the subjunctive mood? That's easy. It's all about possibilities. Stuff that could happen, contrary to fact. The 'what if,' although it can also come in the form of demands: 'I insist,' 'I suggest,' and so on. You use a different verb form than you would in describing things that have actually happened. Say, 'Kurt was thoroughly repulsed by V-Day.' As opposed to the subjunctive: 'If I Were a Boy,' for example. It helps to use relevant examples that get one's attention."

"Ha, Beyoncé. Am I that predictable?"

"Only sometimes," Mike teases. He leans in closer. "So, subjunctive: 'if I were to kiss you right now...'"

Kurt freezes. For the tiniest fraction of a second, his eyes flicker to Mike's lips, before he looks back up. "Wait, what?"

"Got your attention, didn't it?" Mike sits back in his chair smugly. "See, I'm a pretty effective tutor."

"Jerk." Kurt takes a second to think, and then lets his fingers tease the buttons on his black shirt. "Okay, so subjunctive could be like, 'if I were to slowly undo the top two buttons of my shirt...like this...'" And he traces a finger down the small expanse of bare chest. "That counts too, right, Mr. Tutor?"

"Sure, that's um..." Mike's cheeks flush. "What were we talking about again?"

Kurt beams as he buttons up his shirt. "Got your attention, didn't it?"

"Well-played, sir."

"Shit," Mike hisses.

"What?"

"Sylvester, 12 o'clock."

Indeed, when Kurt casts a glance down the hall he spies a familiar tracksuit (in festive red, of course). Despite her suspension, Sue maintains Wile E. Coyote levels of determination to weasel her way back into McKinley High and wreak her special brand of havoc. Kurt certainly wouldn't want to be standing all deer-in-headlights in her path of destruction, particularly not when he's handcuffed to another boy, so he yanks Mike by his handcuff into the nearest empty space, which happens to be the cramped janitor's closet.

"The janitor's closet on Valentine's Day?" Mike snickers. "Aw, Kurt, whatever happened to playing hard-to-get?"

"Shhh, it's Sylvester. You do want to make it to the end of this day relatively unharmed, don't you?"

It's dark inside, and Kurt can only see faint figures through the frosted glass. An outline of the huge red tracksuit makes itself apparent in a moment. Unfortunately, it stays there way longer than it ought to; Sue's probably reaming someone outside that very second. They wait in silence.

Kurt can barely see anything, but he's sure his knuckles have gone paper white by now, considering how hard he's grasping Mike's hand.

"...So do I get to kiss you now?"

"Mike, you are a bigger cliché than anyone I have ever met," he says. "Including Rachel."

"Is that a yes?"

"You know, for someone who was forced to spend V-Day handcuffed to a stranger, you're curiously forward. You do this with everyone you meet?"

"I'm the Changster. It's how I roll."

Kurt gags.

"Okay, maybe not everyone," Mike says softly. "Maybe not even most people."

"I...huh?"

"It's stupid. I've kind of had a thing for you -- not, like, crazy in love or anything, just a tiny crush --"

"What?"

"-- A very minuscule, 'oh his butt looks nice in those football tights' kind of crush, but Brittany totally took it as way more than what it was and then she pulled this stupid handcuff prank to 'help' me, ugh. I'm sorry, Kurt, I should've been honest with you from the get-go, and I would have said something but you were mad at the time, and Jesus you are so scary when you're mad --"

"Wait, wait. You had a crush on me and you never told me?"

"Uh, how exactly would I go about that? 'Hey, man, I sneak glances at your butt every once in a while, just thought I'd tell you.'"

"I don't know," Kurt says. "Would've been nice if I had some sort of idea. I didn't think anyone was into me."

"Why wouldn't they? You're awesome. Intimidating, but awesome." Mike tentatively squeezes Kurt's hand.

"I wish you'd told me. I always thought you were cute."

"You sure had a funny way of showing it," Mike laughs.

"Maybe if you'd told me earlier, it might've been different. I wouldn't have dreaded V-Day so much."

"Are we seriously going to argue about the fact that I have a teeny-tiny crush on you?"

Kurt pauses. "You're right. We shouldn't." Then he kisses him.

It's awkward at first, because it's dark and Kurt can't see him and their teeth knock together, but Mike rests a hand on Kurt's jaw and leans down to deepen the kiss, and yeah. If it started out as a "teeny-tiny crush," it certainly didn't stay that "teeny-tiny" over the past six hours. Kurt parts his lips more so Mike's tongue can push in. He reaches up and threads his fingers through Mike's hair.

Mike is so not the only one with a crush now. Kurt blames that stupid, cheesy, porny TLC song. And okay, the kiss too. And pretty much the whole day so far.

They're interrupted by loud banging on the door. A large circular outline appears on the frosted glass panel, which Kurt identifies as the round mouth of a megaphone pressed up against the glass. And then, Sue's booming voice, amplified by handheld electronics.

"CLOSETS ARE FOR WIMPS!"

She pulls away her megaphone and leaves, but Kurt and Mike remain frozen where they are. Kurt looks down and only then realizes that he hasn't let go of Mike's hand yet.

"What's your next class?" Mike asks.

Kurt gulps. "Gym."

"Wanna cut the last two periods?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that," he says. "Where, though? We've still got handcuffs on. If it's weird enough walking around with them here, it's probably worse out in public."

Mike's silent for a moment. "Ducks. Do you like ducks? Everyone likes ducks, right?"

Ducks don't judge. They just like being fed.

So Mike and Kurt spend the remainder of their afternoon at a nearby park, sitting on the grass, holding (tacky red plastic-linked) hands and tossing bread crumbs to the ducks in the pond. It's quiet and tranquil, a nice break from the Valentine's buzz going on everywhere else.

"...My butt? Seriously?"

"Hey, I watched you do 'Push It.' You can't judge me, all the goods were on display that afternoon. And then you semi-stripped for me earlier. In the library."

"I have never felt so objectified in my life," Kurt huffs. "...I think I like it."

"Just so you know, it's not only your butt, now that I've gotten to know you. Scary bitchfaces aside, you're kind of the coolest person I could ever hope to be handcuffed to." Mike tosses the last of the breadcrumbs and then leans back on his elbows. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this from Brittany once she finds out about us, am I?"

"Nope," Kurt declares. "You're screwed."

"Dude, have you seen her 'I told you so' dance? It's like Grace Adler's, but spazzier."

"Yikes. If it helps, I'm screwed, too. And when Rachel and Mercedes know, the whole school knows."

"Maybe we shouldn't tell anyone just yet?"

"Mike, I spent most of today pretending I wasn't falling hook, line and sinker for every one of your attention-whorey, cornball, undeniably adorable little moves, and guess what," Kurt says, grinning stupidly and unable to stop it, "the more time I spend with you, the harder it is for me to pretend. You've made a dumbass out of me. In under seven hours."

Mike smiles at him. "Really?"

"You know how I loathe Valentine's Day because of all the stupid saccharine couples who rub it in? Well, I'm turning into one of those people I so thoroughly detest."

"But you love it, don't you?"

Kurt nods reluctantly. "Stupid handcuffs. I draw the line at Hallmark cards and pet names, though."

"You say that now," Mike says, an impish gleam in his eye as he leans in.

Their lips fit together perfectly this time around.

The ducks still don't judge. Well, one of them quacks, but it's more of an "I'm hungry" quack than a "Fuck off, you smug Valentine's assholes" quack.

Mike's cellphone rings.

"It can wait," Mike murmurs.

"Might be important." Kurt reaches into the pocket of Mike's jeans to fish out the phone. He blinks at the screen, then shows it to Mike. "It's Brittany." He presses the "answer" button and holds the phone to Mike's ear.

"Hello? Oh, awesome. Yeah, give us 15 minutes. Bye." Mike looks at Kurt. "She found the key."

"...Yay."

"Yeah. Yay."

They stare at each other for a long moment, then Mike grabs Kurt by his sweater and kisses him fiercely, knocking Kurt backwards onto the grass with Mike's warm weight on top of him.

"Drama queen, much?" Kurt giggles.

"It's our last hour together!"

He looks up into Mike's eyes, and the way the sunlight falls all halo-like around his hair. "Happy Valentine's Day, Mike."

"You too, Kurt."

"The next time you serenade me, can you please, for the love of God, pick something a little less dorky?"

"Come on, 'Red Light Special' is smokin' hot and you know it."

Kurt sighs. "Okay, I maybe came in my pants a little bit when you hit that high note."

"Hell yeah. Next V-Day I'll make your toes curl: I'm doing Nine Inch Nails."

"...Oh my God."

Kurt wiggles his fingers. His wrist feels weirdly naked. "Where'd you find it?"

"In my pocket," Brittany says, pointing to her red jacket.

"In. Your. Pocket?"

"I forgot I had pockets! Santana helped me look."

"Deep breaths, Kurt." Mike turns to her. "You...maybe wanna leave before he strangles you?"

She takes her cue and scampers off, her little angel wings bouncing behind her.

"So," Mike says. He stretches his arms wide. "Free at last."

"Yeah. Nice." Kurt stands there, not quite knowing what to do with himself. Then he lunges forward and grabs onto Mike's hand with his right one, gripping tight. "...What can I say, I've grown attached to you."

"No kidding. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were clingy," Mike teases.

For that, Kurt elbows him.

"And sort of violent. And also totally worth it."

It makes Kurt oddly shy. He looks down. "I know we can't spend every class together like today, but can I maybe hang out with you during study hall?" he asks. "I promise I won't be too much of a distraction."

"Of course. I enjoy tutoring you." Mike winks. "You're a fast learner."

They walk towards the school exit, Mike's hand still secured in Kurt's.

"That subjunctive stuff, piece of cake," Kurt says. "And if I were to ask you for your number?"

"I'd say totally. Then I would strongly suggest that you have dinner with me tonight. You free?"

He rests his head on Mike's shoulder. "You know, for the first time ever, I'm actually thrilled to report that I am."

"You gotta admit, I'd be a much better Valentine's date than your right hand."

"Shut up, Mike."

FIN.

Current Mood: cutesy
Current Music: "Chances Are" - Johnny Mathis