Work Text:
"Psst. Psst!"
Kurt stared at the mirror over the sink, heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to spin round, to see who was trying to attract his attention, but he didn't want to give whoever it was that satisfaction.
"Hey, dude."
It wasn't an Ohio accent, but he was in an airport bathroom, after all.
Behind him one of the cubicle doors started to open. It stopped after only a couple of inches, and a curly-haired head peered through the gap. Kurt met his eyes in the mirror.
"What time is it?" the stranger asked.
"Ten to ten," Kurt said, voice guarded.
"Thank god. I've still got an hour before my flight. You haven't seen a bunch of basketball players anywhere, have you? U of A Redhawks."
"I'm... not sure. I think so, though I wasn't paying attention to the outfits." Kurt pushed a stray hair back on top of his head. The guy was only a few years older than himself, he figured. There were dark shadows under his eyes and a five o'clock shadow on his jaw, softening the line of his college-freshman facial hair. Corkscrew curls hung limp and a little greasy around his head.
He was also, as far as Kurt could tell from the sliver of body he saw, entirely naked.
Kurt pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the picture of Blaine on his background for a moment. When he was confident he was fully composed again, he looked in the mirror again.
The basketball player had opened the door further, revealing broad shoulders, tight abs, and a really shitty tattoo.
"We were stuck here over night," the naked guy said. "It was my birthday yesterday, and they got me drunk, and... And now I'm naked in a bathroom with nothing but my passport and a credit card, and my flight takes off in an hour from the opposite end of the airport. And you, dude, are my only hope. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi."
"Ewan McGregor Kenobi, right?"
"Naturally, dude."
Kurt sighed. He turned around, one hand out. Naked guy held out the credit card.
What the hell. Blaine would probably appreciate the story.
"I need to see you to know what size you are," Kurt said.
"Normally I'd make you buy me dinner before you saw me naked," the guy said, "but what the hell."
He opened the door.
Kurt's eyes betrayed him, widening so much he could feel his concealer crease - hot naked black guy wasn't the only one who'd had a late night - and he knew he had to be blushing. He pressed his lips together to keep his jaw from dropping.
"Chad, by the way," the naked guy said.
"Kurt." It came out breathy, far more 'ur' than he normally allowed it.
"Just a t-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy," Chad said. "I mean, you look like a guy with style. I trust you. Just... don't max it out, okay?"
"Sure."
Chad stepped back, closing the cubicle door again.
"I'm on a deadline here, dude," he said. "Go forth and shop."
Hot. Geeky. Jock.
Even if New York was a complete bust, even if they got booed off stage, Kurt was officially having an awesome time.
#
Chad put the toilet lid down and sat on it, trying not to think too hard about how many other asses this toilet might have seen.
Every time he moved his head or neck pain stabbed through his temples. His tongue felt twice as large as normal, sticking to his teeth at the side of his mouth. He'd already thrown up twice, and his stomach spasmed like it was thinking about doing it again.
Also, he may have just hit on a high school kid.
In a toilet in a airport.
He'd never felt skeevier than he did right now, and that included the time he got hazed and woke up naked in the middle of a biology lecture, duck taped to the wall over the muscular diagram.
Pledging for the frat had resulted in more nudity than he'd expected. It didn't really help that half the Redhawks were also in the frat. No escape.
They hadn't even left him his phone, so he was really fucking bored.
'You look like a guy with style'. The kid - Kurt - looked like Ryan. Sort of. Ryan if he'd never had Sharpay around. Fierce. Fragile. Slightly less likely to come back with a "I <3 Lima" t-shirt than the only other guy who'd come into the bathroom since Chad woke up.
In other circumstances, Chad might have done more than flirt a little. The whole 'guy thing' was still something he was exploring, but it was beginning to look like he had a type, and that type wore hats, loved theatre and had serious game.
A polite cough came from outside the door. Chad cracked it open.
Kurt was back, cupid's bow mouth pursed in an expression of disapproval. He had a couple of bags hanging from one forearm, Chad's credit card in one hand, and in the other...
"Dude, you're the best person ever." Chad swung the door open without thinking, reaching blindly for the coffee and churro Kurt was balancing with the air of a practised waiter. He realised his mistake as Kurt's eyes snapped open - and his gaze down - but at least Kurt didn't drop his breakfast.
He inhaled the churro, surprised at how hungry he was. His stomach made a tokenprotest, but settled quickly, and he felt a little more human. Human enough to realise Kurt probably hadn't been practically raised in a locker room, and obviously wasn't quite as comfortable with Chad's nudity as Chad was.
Chad stepped back and pulled the cubicle door half closed. Disappointment flickered across Kurt's face.
Well, fuck. In for a penny, right? "How old are you?" Chad asked.
"Seventeen," Kurt said. "Practically."
"Jailbait," Chad said.
"Also, taken," Kurt said, a layer of wry amusement over his high voice.
"Well, damn," Chad said, chuckling softly. "Worth a shot, though."
Kurt blushed and shrugged. Chad got the impression he didn't get hit on often. Ohio probably wasn't much better than New Mexico in that respect.
He should call Ryan.
The thought hit him with a mouthful of coffee and he choked on it. He put the paper cup on the back of the toilet and grabbed the clothes from Kurt.
"I couldn't find anywhere that did underpants," Kurt said.
"I can deal with going commando."
Chad imagined what it would have been like if he'd got himself together back in high school. If he'd stopped for a moment and examined his actions: trying to split Troy and Gabriella up because he was jealous of the time Troy spent with her, talking Ryan into being mascot so they could spend time together around basketball games, agreeing to be in the senior musical so they could spend time
together around that, too. It could have been Ryan, amused and flattered, explaining he was taken. It could have been Chad who'd taken him.
Yeah, he should really call Ryan. It had been way too long since they'd talked.
Chad downed the last of the already cooling coffee and stepped out of the cubicle. Kurt held up a pair of sneakers.
"Complete guess," Kurt said. "I got my stepbrother's size, so if they don't fit you at least he can have them."
Chad didn't even bother try them on. He figured if Kurt wanted to get his bro a gift with Chad's money he was probably entitled to.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"You've got twenty minutes."
"Think I'll get through security in time?"
"If you run. Sure you don't want the sneakers?"
"You're talking to the Under Eighteen New Mexico Track State Champion. I didn't do that in shoes too small." Chad flashed a grin at the kid. "Enjoy your vacation."
"It's not a vacation; I'm competing in the Show Choir National Championship," Kurt said.
Chad had just known the kid had game, as soon as looking at him. "Nationals, huh? Well, good luck, then." He wanted to say 'see you around', but that was ridiculous. The odds they'd ever meet again were stupidly slim. Goodbye didn't seem enough, though.
"Thank you," Chad said instead.
"You're welcome. Now go."
And Chad went.
#
Kurt leant on the wall outside the bathroom, raising his phone to catch a picture of Chad's retreating back. Through the thin cotton of his shirt Kurt could see "call 555764 for a good time". He hoped it was sharpie and not a tattoo for Chad's sake, though where the Redhawks would have found a tattoo parlour at an airport he couldn't imagine. He programmed the number into his phone, even though he suspected it wasn't really Chad's number.
Finn appeared.
"Where the hell have you been?" he asked. "Schuester's going nuts."
"Shopping," Kurt said. "I got you some sneakers, since you left yours at home."
"Did I?" Finn asked, brow creasing.
"You took them out because you were going to wear them, remember?" Kurt gestured down at Finn's feet, which were clad in his football cleats.
"Oh. Yeah."
"You can't wear those on the plane."
"Can't I?" An expression of suspicion crosses Finn's face. "Are you just saying that because my cleats don't match my pants?"
Kurt smiled, but didn't say anything. Above them the tannoy crackled to life.
"Last call for Flight A1284 to Albuquerque, leaving from gate 8. Last call."
"Huh."
"What?"
"Gate 8 is way down that way," Kurt said gesturing.
"So?"
"So he went the other way."
"Who did?"
Kurt shook his head. "Nevermind. Come on, before Mr Schue loses it."
They were following in Chad's footsteps, Kurt noticed. Maybe he'd be on the same flight as New Directions.
No, he'd probably left it too late to get a ticket now. Still, maybe he'd bump into the guy in New York. Stranger things had happened.