Title: Solar Winds (Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion, 3/?)
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, some swearing.
Spoilers: Blaine exists.
Warnings: Cursing, cockblock-induced rage.
Word Count: 2254
Summary: Kurt Hummel, the current incarnation of the Avatar, learns Firebending from Prince Blaine in what is probably the least secret (and least appropriate) Secret Training Session in history.
Author's Note: So, since I've gone and decided to write this as an epic, I've come up with a few things. The full name of this story is now, technically, Avatar: The Legend of Kurt. It will tentatively be four books long…
Book 1: Terra Infirma
Book 2: Solar Winds
Book 3: Airtight Seals
Book 4: Northern Lights
If George Lucas can go and start in the middle of his saga, then I damn well can, too. :P
Friends Like These
You could cut the tension between them with a knife; slice it into even portions and serve it as a hors d'oeuvre to liven up any party. Both of them exposed and dripping wet, the air around them thick with the smell of sweat and pheromones, their faces mere inches from one another. Kurt can feel the universal forces brewing between them, magnetism and gravity and pure electricity just begging for them to close the gap, bond together and create a new element—fire plus water equals steam, and he has a feeling the two of them could fog up many a window. It feels like the air just before the first thunderbolt in a storm, and all it would take is a single movement, a single action from these opposite charges to make lightning strike. The moment is absolutely perfect—
—aaand it's over.
Blaine starts at the outburst, his eyes darting around like a frightened lemur on lookout for a komodo condor. "Did you hear that?"
"TAP THAT ASS."
"Yes," Kurt says through clenched teeth. "Unfortunately." His eyes immediately latch on to the old storage shed at the corner of the yard, and he thinks about Earthbending a small mountain on top of it.
"POUND HIM LIKE THE FIST OF AN ANGRY SUN GOD. GET UP ON—HEY—ACK!" Thud.
The expression on Blaine's face is honestly slightly terrified, so Kurt stows away his murderous urges for the moment. "Don't worry," he says. "Ashamed as I am to admit it, I know that voice."
"Oh," Blaine says, the worry venting out of him like steam. "Thank Agni."
Kurt raises a thin brow at his bending instructor.
The Prince looks sheepish as he goes to gather the burnt remains of his robe. "Sorry, I just… can't let anyone I know find out about us. Hence the nighttime sessions. Firebending is stronger and easier during daylight, but you know that. Or, wait, do you know that? Did I cover that?"
"You didn't," Kurt says, slightly disappointed for reasons he can't quite describe. "But that's alright. I'm sure you would've gotten to it eventually."
"Yeah," Blaine says, distracted. "Anyway, I'd say that's enough progress for one night. You did really well, Kurt." Putting on his singed, wet clothes, Blaine quickly retrieves his heavy, hooded cloak from the tree where he hung it. "I'll send a messenger with our next meeting place as soon as I can."
"Don't wait too long," Kurt says. "This is kind of time-sensitive."
"I'll see you again soon," Blaine says, giving him but a brief glance. "I promise. Until then, try to lay low. And… put a little fire in your step." He allows just the briefest glimpse of a grin before pulling the hood over his head and walking off into the night.
"Until next time," Kurt softly calls after him. A sigh starts to seep out of his throat, but he clamps it shut when he suddenly remembers exactly why Blaine is now leaving. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he says to no one in particular. "I have some friends to murder."
The rickety old door to the shed does not survive Kurt's entrance—it impacts the wall and promptly divorces itself from its hinges, falling over with a loud clack. Mercedes stands just beyond it, arms crossed and a sympathetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry. I tried to stop him."
Her boy's breathing is loud and furious, in and out through his nose. Now he's breathing like a dragon. "Surrender the cripple," he seethes, "and no one gets hurt." A short pause. "Except the cripple."
Mercedes just gestures further into the shed, and Kurt stalks forth, on the prowl and ready to pounce. Sadly, his predator-o-vision spots nothing of interest besides a lot of strangely elaborate lawn care equipment. He moves carefully, his steps light and fluid… his prey is cunning and crafty, and each step—
He can't help it—Kurt jumps about four feet into the air from sheer shock. Ever the master of improvisation, however, he lands in a combat stance and manages to salvage his dignity (at least he didn't squeal this time). His eyes scan the shed for the source of the voice, but still come up oddly short.
It's much easier to follow the sound when he's expecting it. The Avatar's eyes fall to the floor, where he finds…
"Finn?" Or, rather, Finn's upturned face, barely sticking out of the ground (with a small footprint on it).
"Hey, Kurt," Finn says, pulling his eyeballs as far over as he can to look at him.
He can't help but shake his head in awe of the situations his semi-brother finds himself in. "What are you doing? Why are you… how did you…"
"What?" Finn asks.
"How did you get down there?" Kurt repeats.
"What?" Finn asks again.
His blood pressure is beginning to skyrocket. Poke him with a pin and he could probably hit a bullseye with the stream at 50 feet or better. "HOW DID YOU GET DOWN THERE?" he shouts.
"Oh. Mercedes and Artie put me here," he says, simply. "...huh. The cracks in this ceiling kind of look like my mom if you stare at them long enough."
He starts to bring a hand up to massage his forehead before he realizes what he is doing and promptly drops it again. People have no idea how much oil is on their hands. It's terrible for his pores. "Why did they do that?"
"What?" Finn asks.
Kurt raises his foot and slams it down, causing Finn to sprout up out of the dirt like a fresh daisy. He looks incredibly grateful and like he kind of wants to hug Kurt, which does not sit well with him at the moment. Finn is filthy.
"Thanks, dude," he grins, and goes for a back pat which Kurt artfully dodges.
"It's nothing. Now, answer the question- why did my best friend and… Artie, feel the need to shove you in the ground like a turnip sprout?"
"I… ahh… I kind of asked for it," he admits sheepishly. "It's a long story."
That's Finn for 'my brain has reached its limit for today, try again tomorrow.' "Whatever," Kurt says. "Where is Artie?"
Finn shrugs. "Dunno. I thought I heard him yelling, but I couldn't see him. Or, you know, anything else. Besides the ceiling." At this, Finn looks up again. "Hey! That one looks like Sam!"
Kurt grunts and leaves Finn to ponder the mystery of the ceiling people, heading over to the shack's only window. Artie had to have been here, but all Kurt sees is some rakes, a stack of picture frames, a dusty set of bongos, a statue of a sitting fat man, a wheelbarrow full of—
"Drop the statue disguise, Abrams. I know it's you."
"Come out! If I have to crack the shell myself, I'm going straight for the nougaty center."
"I mean it. I won't stop until I hear squishing."
A single step in the statue's direction is all it takes. The statue's visage crumbles and Artie unfolds himself from within. "How'd you know?"
"One," Kurt says, counting off his first finger. "That's an Earth Kingdom deity. No one in the Fire Nation would have that statue, and Two," he says, counting off the second, "you've used that exact same disguise before," he says, shaking his head. "What were you thinking?"
"Well, I was hoping you wouldn't remember that particular instance—"
"With BLAINE, you idiot! What is wrong with you?"
Artie shrugs. "I thought you could use some encouragement. You guys were inches from eating each other's faces for—no lie—over a minute."
Kurt scoffs. "We were not."
"You were. I counted. 87 seconds."
"…huh." Is that all it was? It seemed to go by so fast. "You were… that's not the… we weren't…" he sputters in vain, before he finds a single line of thought to focus on. "Shut up. I am going to kill you."
"You'll have to catch me first!" Artie grins.
Kurt barely has time to make a single flail towards him before the paralyzed Earthbender rocket-scoots straight through the shed wall, speeding off into the night in a cloud of dust.
"Missed him again?" Mercedes asks as she walks in from the entrance.
The Water-native gives a frustrated sigh in response. "When I learn Airbending, I am going to chase him down and inflate him like a balloon. And then I will attach a string to him and carry him around until he teaches me how to do that."
Mercedes puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll help you plug his airholes."
Meanwhile, as the young Fire Prince walks along the dark, wooded roads that will lead him back to the Palace, he is unaware that he is being watched. High above, hidden in the leaves of the trees, a devious duo prepares to unleash double trouble…
"Target confirmed." A young woman in dark, skintight fatigues smiles from behind her binoculars, perched delicately on a high branch with no more than her head peeking out from behind the foliage.
"Wha—huh?" On a nearby branch, a young man in loose, piecemeal armor is (unhappily) startled out of his (way too short) nap. He blearily looks up towards his partner above. "'s goin' on?" he says, blearily. "'s it time for me to punch a douche yet?"
"Not yet," the woman says, a little testily.
"Why not?" the man scoffs. "'the fuck are they doing now?"
"Uhhh, tell you what; why don't you come on over," she sneers, holding out her binoculars, "and look for yourself? Ain't nobody payin' me to be your narrator."
"Nobody's payin' you to be bitch either, but you pull that off pretty well," he shrugs, climbing over and taking the binoculars. It doesn't take him long to spot what he's looking for. "Well, if it isn't Prince Prissy himself. Sneakin' out from under daddy's nose for secret midnight encounters… it'd be kind of badass if it wasn't so gay."
The woman snatches the binoculars out of his hands, clearly unimpressed.
"So, do I get to punch him now? 'Cause I've gotta say," he says, "I see a lot of faces in this job, and that one is just begging for a fist."
"Sorry, but no," she says, holding up her finger. "We're on recon. We get the info, we report to the Lady. We don't strike until she gives us the OK." She smirks. "I guess you'll have to find something else to do with that hand tonight."
He returns the gesture, grinning like a shark. "I can think of a couple things…" He creeps his hand towards her, flexing his fingers deviously, and looks downright shocked when she deflects him with her forearm.
"Ohhhh, oh, no. You? Gets none of this," she sneers, gesturing to her astoundingly tight, all-black outfit. "Not tonight."
He has the nerve to pout. "What the fuck, Santana?"
"You slept through the whole damn thing, Puck!" Santana accuses.
Puck rolls his eyes. "Well, excuse me for not wanting to watch two dudes get all handsy with each other. Damnit, San…" His voice hovers at sadness for just a second, before descending straight to seduction. "Come on, you know you want some of this. This hand works wonders. 'sides, you deserve it for doing a good job and shit."
Santana ponders the offer for a second before tilting her head to the side and giving Puck a frank stare. "How 'bout this? You catch me, and I'll let you do whatever you want." She punctuates the whatever with a slow, limber back-bend, planting her hands on the tree and holding her whole body rigid in a perfect vertical line. She holds that pose until Puck reaches for her—upon which she launches herself into a full backflip, landing on the highest branch in the tree.
"Damn, woman. Why you gotta get all bendy like that in front of me if you're not gonna put out?" Puck grumbles.
She shrugs. "You heard the rules. See you later, Puckerman." With that, she springs high into the air with the grace of a flying squirrelbat, darting through the trees and vanishing into the night.
Puck responds with a grunt, angrily jamming a small straw of wheat in his mouth and chewing on it like it sold his sister into slavery and didn't even cut him in on the profits.
Barely even bothering to brace himself, he drops out of the tree and hits the ground with a heavy thud. He's barely had time to pick himself up from the crouch he landed in when he hears a strange whooshing sound, followed by the sound of a high velocity impact with the back of his legs that flips him over and lands him on his ass. "The fuck?" he groans, raising his head to try and catch a glimpse of whatever leveled him, but all he sees is a cloud of dust fading rapidly into the distance.
With a sigh, he lets his head flop back down onto the dirt. Tonight is just not his night.
Coming Up Next: THE PLOT! No, for real. Next chapter will be almost entirely Blaine POV and establish a number of things, including his family situation, his need for secrecy, and how he met Kurt and his happy band of Benderoos. Reviews are crack to me, so please, feed my addiction. :P See you soon!