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English
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Published:
2013-04-10
Completed:
2013-04-10
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15/15
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Floorshow

Summary:

Rocky Horror Audience Participation AU, Blaine is a law student, forced into a strict life by his father, but he misses performing. A chance meeting spurs his old desires, and he finds himself joining the cast of the local RHPS AP, where he meets the enigmatic Frank, and starts to remember who he used to be. But Frank is much, much more than he seems.

Notes:

Complete AU set a few years down the track - Kurt never went to Dalton, he and Blaine never met.

If you haven't seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show, it won't make as much sense. You don't need to have been to an Audience Participation session to get a lot of the references, they're from the movie and the rest is mostly explained.

Kurt's hair and makeup as Frank is based on Tony Head's stage performance as Frank, not the movie.

Chapter Text

Blaine Anderson was many things.

He was a law student, an athlete. He was a scholar, an accomplished musician, and above all, a gentleman. Blaine Anderson was going places. He was sensible, and levelheaded, and in control. Blaine Anderson was not impulsive.

At least, he hadn’t been impulsive in a very, very long time.

Which is why, when met with the giant arched doorway of the heritage Kismet Theatre, staring at streams of costumed audience members filing slowly inside, all Blaine could do was squeeze the watch in his pocket over and over and repeat to himself: I don’t do this. I never do this. This isn’t me, not anymore.

A small voice in the back of his head chose that moment to inform him that was precisely why he had to do this. He thumbed over the pocket watch, the watch he never opened anymore, and remembered the piece of paper tucked inside it, dented with scrawled handwriting.

Sometimes we forget who we really are.

He made his way inside, wide eyes flashing as he took in the spectacle of the masses gathered for the show; so much glitter and lace, stockings and leather jackets blending under the heady machine-made smoke that hovered in the air like a light fog.

The smell hit him all at once. The concession stand, the undertone of make-up and hairspray. Performance was his life, once. A long time ago.

But that was before real life, before law school, and that long night in his parents’ front room, so pristine and untouched it looked and smelled like a catalogue page. The sound of his father’s voice, low and booming loud enough to rattle his bones: enough with this nonsense, these silly singing competitions. It’s time to grow up.

A sharp hand on his arm jerked him out of his reverie. “Blaine?”

His brow shot up in surprise at the tiny woman in front of him, decked out in a purple corset and a shredded black skirt. Her hair was long, but mostly synthetic, with shades of lavender and deep indigo fabric hanging in streamers from a gathered mess of curls.

“Y-Yes, that’s me!” he shouted back at her, only realising a moment too late the sheer volume of his voice. A few crowd members turned to look at him, and he ducked his head, embarrassed.

But the girl hadn’t noticed. “Great! We spoke on the phone, I’m Kim,” she tugged on his arm, “come with me, kiddo, we’ve only got ten minutes.”

They darted and wove through the onslaught of bodies pressing in every direction, and before he could adjust to each new corridor and room he was being dragged through a heavy sprung door to the side stage.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight, and wondered if his gasp was as loud as it felt. A tray of neatly arranged programs sat on the table in front of a dozen or more people, half-naked and chattering loudly as they tugged themselves into costumes. The blood red of the words against a black background burned into his brain in an instant, and suddenly the haze of the night gave way to reality.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show: Audience Participation. Kismet Theatre.

He was here. He was actually doing this.

Oh god.

“And who do we have here?” A tall woman slid up to them smoothly, her hair a bush of teased curls underneath a tiny white hat. His eyes flicked over her costume once. Magenta.

Kim pushed him forward with a gentle shove. “This is our new Brad.”

Tilting her weight back onto a spiked stiletto heel, Magenta regarded him for a moment. “Hello, captain dapper and curls. Well, I like this one better than Steve.”

“Steve?” Blaine asked nervously.

“Our last Brad,” Kim mumbled behind him, scanning over the tray. “Anybody’s better than Steve.”

“What – what was wrong with Steve?” Blaine managed to stammer out, trying to keep himself from wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

“He gave Columbia chlamydia,” she shot back.

After a moment of surprise, Blaine let out awkward laugh. “Try saying that ten times fast.”

Magenta quirked her eyebrow, and the edge of her mouth curled into a wicked smile. “Oh, I like him. Virgin,” she gestured as if to add a silent of course, “but he’ll do.”

“W-wait, I’m not–”

“To the show, sweetie,” Kim corrected his assumption with a pat to the shoulder. “This is your first time at A-P?”

A-P? Audience Participation, he realised. “Yes.”

The two girls exchanged a quick glance. This was not going as well as he’d hoped.

Before he could stop himself, high-strung and shaky with nerves, he gestured to a girl dressed as Columbia rehearsing her dance over by the stage curtain. “Does that happen… often?”

“The STI? No. The sex, yes.” Magenta looped his arm as she spoke, patting down his sleeve seductively. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m … I mean, I’m–”

“Gay as the day is long?” she finished for him. “Duh. Half the cast is. Everybody sleeps with everybody.” She winked, relinquishing his arm. Blaine was suddenly aware he’d been holding his breath.

“Well, except Frank,” she said with a shrug. “You’ll see. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it here. Get that kink out your skirt, if you know what I mean.”

Blaine blinked, dumbfounded, but didn’t get the chance to point out that he actually had no clue what she meant before she was sauntering away, swinging her hips and smirking back over her shoulder at him.

Well that was… strange.

He almost jumped when Kim came up behind him, her voice startlingly close. “Watch the show, keep an eye on the stage. Transylvanians – that’s the cast you’ll see in cos at the side of the stage – they do the callbacks, along with the regulars in the audience. Main cast, that’s you, just act out the film down below the big screen.” She was explaining quickly, adjusting her hair and costume as she spoke, and Blaine did his best to concentrate on her voice.

“Be prepared to get wet, be ready to have things thrown at you. We’ve got a fill-in Brad tonight, but next Friday it’s you, so tonight you watch and get an idea of how we run. Buy the movie if you don’t already own it. Learn the lines, figure out your cues. First night is always rough, but you’ll learn.”

“Right,” Blaine acknowledged shakily, his gaze flicking around backstage. He watched the unfamiliar faces as they chattered and sang to each other and to themselves. The bodies stretching in corsets and glitter and garters all moved around each other smoothly, like some kind of underworld machine, wrapped in leather and lace. “Thank you, Kim, for this – for everything, I won’t let you down.”

“Trixie,” she said, tossing her clipboard onto a table. “Friday nights, I’m Trixie. Get used to people calling you Brad,” she went on as she adjusted her corset fiercely, manually tucking each breast in tighter so her cleavage was more visible. “And un-bunch your panties, kiddo. You’re here to have fun. It’s burlesque, not Broadway.”

Blaine blushed violently, dipping his head down and finding a convenient spot on the floor to stare at.

When she noticed his expression and the pink tinge of his ears, she gave him a soft smile. “We’ll knock that out of you soon enough. And if we don’t, Frank certainly will.”

He peered up from under long eyelashes. “Frank?”

“Oh, honey,” she scoffed fondly, patting him on the arm. “You’ll see.”

With a nervous smile, he watched her collect the flat tray full of grab bags and programs, looping the strap around her neck and shuffling past the curtain. The murmur of the crowd grew steadily louder and louder, and it was doing little to calm his nerves. Out of nowhere, a shout went up, and a chorus of voices began to enthusiastically chant unfamiliar words.

“And god said, let there be lips! And there were. And they gave good head!”

Eyes wide, he shuffled to the edge of the curtain and pushed it back just far enough to spy the crowd as the song began. Science Fiction, Double Feature, and in a rush of singing voices and spotlights, his adolescence came back to life. It wasn’t Pink or Katy Perry, but the electricity in the air was the same, and the faces of the crowd.

It was so long ago.

Transfixed by the song and the performance, he swayed against the wall, face framed by the velvet of the curtain fabric. Something in his chest hurt, something old and long dormant, and he wondered for the first time in a long time what it felt like to be out there.

“Well, apparently you do just fine,” a light, teasing voice came from behind him – soft enough that Blaine wondered at first if he’d imagined it.

He turned and stumbled, his back pressed lightly to the wall as he faced the figure now seated on top of the table.

It took him a moment to realize the man’s gaze had been locked on his ass. “I – I’m sorry?”

How do you do?” the man purred. “It’s my first line. Never mind. It’s Blaine, isn’t it? So you’re our new Brad?”

Blaine stared, open mouthed, unable to find a reply.

The corset he’d expected, but the body it clung to was tight, and wiry, and built of porcelain skin and muscle that looked like it was cut from marble. The bulge of both shoulders and biceps cutting out from under the black lines of shimmering fabric was impossible not to follow down to gloved forearms and long, thin fingers pressed against pale knees. His calves disappeared into leather boots with four-inch heels at the base, and Blaine realized a moment too late he was actually staring at the shifting muscle along the man’s thighs.

“I – uh…” Blaine swallowed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he tried to regain his bearings. “Yes. Blaine. Brad. I’m the new Brad.”

“I figured,” he said, amused.

Blaine caught his eyes, and took in the lines of makeup across his face flicking out from each eyebrow, the high draw of his cheekbones and the spikes of his dark hair, right down to the scarlet lipstick painted on his lightly smirking mouth. This had to be Frank.

“Frank – is it?” Blaine asked, but the waver in his voice betrayed him.

Frank eyed him curiously, seeming almost surprised. “When I’m here, yes.”

“And when you’re out there?” Blaine’s eyes flicked to the lit up exit sign, and internally he registered that he had no control over his mouth right now, or, considering the uncomfortable feeling developing in his boxers, his body.

“Out there?” Frank shrugged lightly, and twirled a sucker in the air with his absurdly long fingers. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He slipped the lollipop past red lips and shifted smoothly on the table, spreading both legs almost to right angles as he perched forward, elbows balanced on his knees.

Blaine did his best not to whimper at the long stretch of skin now on display. Oh sweet jesus.

His glance slipped helplessly down to the black satin and lace briefs Frank was wearing. He gulped, and realised immediately that the noise he’d made sounded like something out of a cartoon. Fitting, he supposed, given the situation. He was fairly sure this was exactly how Wile E Coyote felt whenever he realised he’d run out of cliff to stand on. If only I had a little sign.

“You don’t do this much, do you?” Frank asked. His voice was lighter this time, and curious.

Blaine glanced up at that, blushing deep red at being caught staring. And what the hell was he doing here? Why was he here? He heard his father’s voice again, and his his body tensed, eyes slamming shut. “I’m sorry, I … I don’t do this, I shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t know about that,” Frank said quickly, his voice strong and confident as he twirled his lollipop between two fingers.

It was the last thing Blaine expected to hear, and his eyes opened again. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t normally do this. But you want to do this,” he said.

It was a statement, not a question, but Blaine answered anyway. “Yes.”

“In that case,” Frank went on, letting his eyes trail up and down Blaine’s body. “This is exactly where you should be.”

“I guess,” Blaine uttered, gaze searching the ground.

Frank’s fingers slipped lightly over the inside of his own thigh, and Blaine looked up at the movement, watching them press pale lines into skin. His breath caught in his throat.

“I –I’m not used to this kind of… I don’t perform. Not anymore,” he babbled, gesturing to the curtain and the roar of voices beyond. “I used to.”

“You want to,” Frank said silkily, his voice calm.

“But I don’t belong here. Anymore.”

“Give it some time.” Frank smiled at him, sliding a pink tongue over the globe of his lollipop and taking it back into his mouth. He sucked on it briefly, hollowing both cheeks before he pulled it back out with an obscenely loud pop. “I have a feeling you’ll fit right in.”

Blaine swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away.

Slipping off the table, Frank closed the gap between them with two easy strides, pinning Blaine to the wall. He rocked back, his hips stuttering against the plaster as Frank slid their bodies together and locked their mouths, swallowing down Blaine’s moan as he ground his hips across the bulge of Blaine’s now achingly hard cock.

Blaine’s head swam, his heart pounding in his ears as Frank licked and explored inside his mouth, tasting him and gliding over his tongue and teeth. He rolled their mouths together fiercely, the fingers of his free hand sliding into Blaine’s curls and tugging lightly as he pushed Blaine harder into the wall and sucked on his tongue. Everything tasted like sugar and cherries, everything smelled like powder and hair gel and something powerful underneath, drawing him in like a flame.

Frank lingered for a moment, grunting against Blaine’s mouth and sucking back on his lower lip before he let him go. Blaine panted as soon as he was free, realising both his hands were clinging tightly to narrow hips, fingers tucked into lace and sliding over the curves of smooth skin. What just happened?

Frank smiled at him, and kohl-rimmed eyes that Blaine had assumed were just blue were suddenly galaxies of colour, shining with mischief in the yellow light. Blaine struggled to breathe under that stare, his own pupils blown wide and dark as Frank pulled himself back, and Blaine was forced to extract both hands from his pants.

“Wh- what was that for?” Blaine managed at last, his voice barely above a whisper. In the distance, he registered the melody of the Time Warp.

“Luck,” Frank whispered back breathlessly, his gaze slipping down to the kiss-swollen line of Blaine’s lips. He smirked, and licked at them one more time, sealing over his tongue in a gentle kiss for barely a second before Blaine felt something solid push into his mouth. Cherries? He closed his mouth around the lollipop. Oh.

Enchente,” Frank purred, thumbing one last time over Blaine’s lips before he swept through the curtain, and disappeared.

The thumping bass of the music broke past the whistling in Blaine’s ears as his heart slowed at last, and over the sound he caught Frank’s voice in tune with the movie.

“How do you do?”

Blaine couldn’t help the broad smile that pulled at his mouth around the stem of the sucker as it clacked against his teeth. Well, apparently I do just fine.