Work Text:
Kurt was sitting in his office chair, typing out his handwritten notes from a Civil War-era skeleton, when Blaine knocked on the door, entering before the answer came and slipping into the visitors seat. He put up his feet, tucking them onto the desk, and Kurt shot him an irritated frown, reaching over the push his ankles off again.
‘Why are you in my office this morning, Blaine? We don’t have a case.’
‘We don’t have to have a case for me to come say hi to my workmate, do we?’
‘The Smithsonian Medico-Legal Department is a lab for the study of skeletal remains, so it should stand as the norm, yes.’ He shifted his keyboard to the side and pushed his notes into his top drawer. He crossed his arms on the desk and leaned forward. ‘Why are you here?’
Blaine grinned. ‘I have something to show you.’
‘What?’ Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Well, remember when you told me that I was just like every other FBI agent, with my regulation suit, and the strict rules of procedure and everything?’
‘I remember,’ he said. And he did. He had been angry at the time, because Blaine had forbidden him from following on a case where the suspect was armed and dangerous. It was FBI policy not to take squints out into the field, and despite the policy, Kurt didn’t agree with it. He was just as good a shot as any of the FBI agents, and he could defend himself if he needed to. But policy was policy, and Blaine had said no, so Kurt had driven himself behind Blaine’s agency car from a distance. Blaine hadn’t fallen for it one bit.
‘Well, I’ve been better, haven’t I? I let you come on that last case?’
Kurt frowned. ‘You did. But you shouldn’t have let the rule apply to me in the first place. And our last case showed considerably less danger than the one in discussion.’
‘You shot the guy as he escaped!’
‘You told me I wouldn’t have to, that there was no risk to my person and that was why you were letting me tag along.’
‘I-‘ Blaine bit into his lip. ‘Okay, well, about the uniform, I’m not letting them control what I wear anymore. I’m rebelling.’ He pulled his feet off the desk suddenly and stood up, pulling aside his suit jacket. The buckle of his belt read COCKY, in large block letters, bright and attention demanding.
‘Is this a pun in relation to your reasonably large penis size?’ Kurt asked.
‘Reasonably-?’ Blaine spluttered. ‘You haven’t seen enough of my…’ he paused, ‘package… to know.’
‘I’ve seen enough. The way your pants fall indicate your size to be on the larger end of the average spectrum.’
Blaine bit back the urge to argue against “average”. Instead he stood up, pushing his fists into his hips and pushing his pelvis subtly forward, giving Kurt the best view of his belt and his “reasonably large penis”. ‘Well,’ he said haughtily, ‘as you can see, I’m standing up to the FBI. I’m doing my own thing. I’m being an original leader.’
‘In minor ways,’ Kurt returned and Blaine scowled, stalking towards the door.
‘You’ll never get to see my package to find out how big it really is!’ he called out and tried to slam the door behind him, but it’s soft close stopped it short and the effect was ruined. He narrowed his eyes at the glass door and stalked off, gritting his teeth to resist the urge to stomp his foot in frustration.