#“they sent me into battle with only a fork and a butter knife and expect me to win yet wont give me any better weapons

[fangomango]

Ooh getting the weird achey chest pain you get when you're stressed

[notarelationship]

A Crime Against Pizza (co-authored with @mshoneysucklepink)

From this prompt:  "Your pizza keeps getting delivered to my house by mistake and I need to talk to you about your choice of toppings AU" by @ashesinyourhair from the @dailyau. 

Rating: PG (for innuendo) Summary: Some people are very particular about their pizza. Warnings: Pineapple on pizza, orgasmic descriptions of pepperoni, egregiously overused italics, general idiocy. Stoner Brett. ~3100 words 

AO3

First this happened. Then this happened. Super thanks to @snarkyhag for the awesome beta.

--

The only saving grace about exam time, Blaine thought, was that somehow it made pizza taste even better. He wasn’t sure if it was some psychosomatic reaction or the perfect balance of protein, carbs, and fat traveling through his bloodstream straight to his brain - but it set off his reward center like nothing else. Except maybe a good orgasm (ideally brought on by something other than his own hand, thankyouverymuch).

The only problem was his roommate. Sam HATED Blaine’s preferred toppings of pineapple and ham, (“it’s fruit on pizza, Blaine, and fruit is healthy, it totally defeats the point of pizza being junk food! It makes it, I don’t know, less junky!”) Which was why he considered himself lucky that Sam had a nighttime photo shoot. Nothing was stopping him.

He dialed his favorite pizza place, telling himself he’d eat the leftovers for breakfast in the morning before Sam could bitch about it.

--

“Ouch!”

It was the fifth time Kurt had accidentally pricked himself with a pin while working on the partial costume that was barely holding together on the dress form. This was his final project for his Advanced Costume Design class, and it was about to look like a costume for Sweeney Todd instead of Hamilton (hmmm, maybe he could pass it off as from the “Battle of Yorktown?”). His vision was swimming in spite of all the coffee he’d ingested and...oh, he hadn’t eaten. That explained things; his blood sugar must have been off-balance.

He checked the fridge--nothing. He had been so busy with final assignments and living off bagels from the library coffee shop, he hadn’t gone grocery shopping and the fridge was only full of Rachel’s vegan friendly favorites. There were the kale chips she had bought on a whim, some tofu (ergh), and some homegrown kombucha from the farmer’s market that he was certain was becoming sentient. He briefly considered sauteeing up her seitan and vegetables into a stir fry, but he still had so much work to do and just the thought of cleaning up the kitchen afterward was more than he could bear.

He opened the drawer of menus and instantly salivated. He hadn’t had pizza with real cheese on it in months. Tonight not even Rachel Berry could stop him from getting his pineapple and pepperoni fix.

--

There was a reason the guys at Vanelli’s called their new delivery boy “Stoner Brett.”

Blaine was up and at the door before the delivery guy could even finish knocking.

“Uhhh, you order a,” the delivery boy who reeked of pot drawled, squinting at the label on the side, “a large pineapple?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Here you go,” Blaine said, handing over 25 dollars and taking the pizza box. “Keep the change.”

“Dude, cool,” Stoned Delivery Dude smiled and left. Blaine closed the door and went to set the pizza on the coffee table. He grabbed a plate, knife and fork from the kitchen, a handful of napkins (it was New York pizza) along with a soda from the fridge, and sat down to his mid-study reward.

“Mmm, come to papa,” Blaine moaned, as he opened the box.

And was immediately disgusted.

There was pepperoni on his pizza.

Now, Blaine understood that pepperoni was the most popular and stereotypically classic pizza topping. He figured it was an easy mistake to make. But it didn’t stop the queasy feeling they gave him. Little red nitrites, their edges crisped and curled up like the floors of Hell, their centers filled with a light yellow puddle of grease. Spicy little grease pools that dripped everywhere, and anyone who ever had to get grease stains out of polo shirts would empathize, he was sure. And with pineapple? No, just...no. The saltiness of the ham paired so well with sweet pineapple; slightly dry balanced with juicy bursts. But pineapple juice mixed with pepperoni grease?

Blaine would have cried if he weren’t so nauseous. And hungry.

He decided, maybe he could just delicately pick the pepperonis off? He picked up one, and gently attempted to pull it off the cheese...and the grease splashed back onto his shirt.

“GODDAMNIT.” He called Vanelli’s again, to try to get a replacement pie.

--

Kurt stomach growled and he looked up from his sewing and saw the time. It had been almost an hour since he’d ordered his pizza.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled to no one, reaching for his phone. He was just about to dial to find out where his food was when Rachel came noisily into the apartment.

“Kurt! You will never guess who I ran into tonight at yoga - Jesse St. James, from high school. You remember him?”

Kurt scowled. Yes, he remembered Jesse-St.James-from-high-school. He did not approve.

“Yes, but Vanelli’s never delivered my pizza so hang on; let me call them and you can tell me all about -”

The downstairs buzzer rang before Kurt could push the numbers. The caller ID’d himself as the pizza delivery guy so Kurt buzzed him up.

“I hope that’s the Vegan Double, Kurt, I am starving,” Rachel followed him to the door, standing behind him and looking skeptically at the delivery guy. Kurt didn’t recognize him, but he definitely recognized the slightly sour scent of streetcorner weed. He made a face and paid the guy, but he didn’t have the heart to skimp on his tip, even with the tardy delivery.

Kurt set the box on the dining table, “Rachel I didn’t order the vegan one,” Kurt said, opening the box. “You weren’t here so I opted for - not this.” Kurt stared at the pizza. It was almost right. He could have sworn he’d ordered pineapple and pepperoni, but that was definitely ham on the pie. Whatever, he shrugged to himself. Pork is pork.

“Gross.” He had almost forgotten Rachel was standing there. “I don’t know how you can eat that, Kurt. Those poor pigs, and all the milk for that cheese belongs to the baby cows -”

“Calves, Rachel. They’re called calves.” Kurt rolled his eyes.

Rachel sat across the table with her most judgmental look. “They are baby cows, Kurt.”

“Whatever Rachel. I am starving and I am eating this pizza,” he said. But he knew he’d give in, he always did. And usually he didn’t even mind. He liked eating healthier, he felt better, and it was good for his occasionally fluctuating weight (although that had been less of a problem as he’d gotten older). But sometimes he just wanted a real freaking pizza. “Go make yourself something.  I’ll stop at two slices and eat the rest tomorrow after my exam. I still have to finish up the project for my costume design class and then we can watch a movie and have popcorn with that vegan butter you like, okay?”

Rachel grinned. “That sounds like a perfect night Kurt. Thank you!”

--

After the pizza mixup from the other night, Blaine was hesitant about ordering from Vanelli’s again. They had brought him a new pie, with the proper toppings, and he left the other for Sam (who, as expected, picked the pineapple off and threw it in the trash, what kind of monster…). But they had ordered once after that and it turned out fine, though the last delivery person was different (and decidedly not high as a kite), and the order had been correct (however, with Sam home there would be no pineapple). Blaine assumed they had fired the stoner from before.

Blaine sighed with relief when he came in from his last exam. He had sent his final paper in earlier that day, and with that another school year was behind him. He had a couple of weeks until his summer internship started, and for now he felt like celebrating. As far as he was concerned there was no better way to celebrate than with his favorite pizza. With the biggest puppy eyes Blaine could muster, Sam bent to his will and let him pick the toppings (“but I’m totally picking the fruit off!” he said).

“You’re the one best friend that anyone could have,” Blaine sang at Sam, as he went to take a shower, leaving Sam to answer the door.

--

Less than a week after the ham pizza incident Kurt was buried under a History of Design project and two back-to-back finals, one for his Advanced Playwrights class and the other a monologue from The Tempest for his Shakespeare class that Kurt was finding to be a miserable bitch to memorize. The further he got into the monologue the worse he got.

It took him about fifteen more difficult minutes to realize that he hadn’t actually eaten since breakfast, and that was probably why his brain wasn’t putting words together in any proper order, much less the order William Shakespeare demanded.

As good as the ham and pineapple pizza had been, he was still craving his favorite pineapple with pepperoni. Ham was fine, but a ham and pineapple pizza was just so boring. Pepperoni was spicy and chewy, and Vanelli’s had that special way of cooking the pepperoni so that they curled up around the edges and the tasty grease pooled deliciously in the center of each slice, like tiny bowls of processed pork product soup.

“God yes,” Kurt moaned as he thumbed open his phone and called the shop.

--

“Blaine, pizza’s here!” Sam shouted.

Blaine came out of his room, barefoot and wearing a fresh shirt and pair of jeans, pressing the moisture out of his curls. “Great, I’m starving! Wait,” Blaine sniffed the air, then at Sam’s clothes, and got a strange sense of deja vu. “Why does it smell like a Phish concert in here?”

“Probably because the pizza dude was totally stoned out of his gourd,” Sam laughed, as he opened the box.

Blaine didn’t even need to see the pepperonis before he knew they were there. “Damn it. I gotta call them back, get them to send a non-stoner to bring us a new pizza.”

“Um, why don’t you just give it to this Hummel person?” Sam asked.

“What Hummel person?”

“The person whose pizza this is? I looked at the receipt on the side. They only live two floors above us.”

--

Forty-five minutes later there was a knock on his apartment door, which made no sense unless Rachel had forgotten her keys, because they had a buzzer and everyone in the building was careful about not letting in someone without keys. Kurt looked through the peephole in the door. There was a guy on the other side that Kurt thought he recognized as one of the two guys who lived downstairs. The two cute guys. They’d never exchanged more than a polite nod, and neither he nor Rachel had been able to figure out whether they were a couple or not.

Oh well, cute guys don’t randomly knock on my door every day, he thought, as he opened it. It was one of the cute guys - the one who usually used too much gel in his hair (though not tonight and ooh those curls were sexy) - and he was holding a pizza box.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Cute Guy scowled. “I believe this is yours?” He lifted the edge of the box and Kurt could see his perfect pepperoni and pineapple pizza inside.

Kurt grinned. “Oh wow, thank you!” He reached out and took the box. “But how did you -”

“Know it was you? Your apartment number was on the box.”

“Oh, duh, of course! Well, thank you, um…”

Cute Guy extended his hand. “My name’s Blaine....”

“...Kurt.”

Kurt juggled the box to his left so he could shake hands with his right, and when their hands touched there was a spark. Blaine sure did have the prettiest eyes Kurt had seen in a long time. Maybe in ever. He wondered if Blaine might like to share his pizza. Or possibly his bed. “Would you like to come in?”

--

“Um, okay.”

Blaine was all ready to be super judgemental about whoever this Hummel person was, because he was perfectly allowed to judge based on choice of pizza toppings alone. But when the door opened, he wasn’t expecting the hot guy from the mailboxes. Sam was always teasing him that he was having an imaginary affair with the guy he ran into when he was getting the mail (and he wasn’t wrong). He can’t believe he never registered which apartment was his.

“Thanks for bringing up my pizza. I swear they mess this up every time.” Come on Kurt, you can be flirty. “Can I get you a drink, or do you want to share a thank you slice?”

How could someone so gorgeous have such awful taste in pizza toppings? He hoped it didn’t show on his face.

“I just have to ask one thing,” Blaine said.

Kurt turned from setting the pizza box on a table, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why pepperoni?”

Kurt’s mouth dropped open. “Um, why not pepperoni?”

Blaine cringed internally, because this guy was so cute and wrong about pizza but still cute with such a melodic voice. But he had to know, because pepperoni was gross.

“Excuse me, what’s so gross about it?” Oh damn, he said that out loud. Well, in for a penny...

“It’s just so highly processed, and the way it curls up, and the grease pops out of it and settles into these icky, oily pools -”

“Very delicious grease, I think you mean.”

“- and you can’t pick them off without getting the grease everywhere. They are a crime against pizza! And with pineapple? How can you ruin such a perfect, juicy, succulent fruit, that just bursts with sweetness in your mouth?”

Kurt could think of something he’d like to burst in his mouth, all right. “All true. And don’t forget the occasional flash of tart the pineapple sometimes supplies,” Kurt said. “I suppose you would pair your pineapple with ham?” Kurt’s voice had gotten higher at that, and Blaine thought he might have moved a bit closer. He may even have licked his lips.

“It’s only the best balanced companion to pineapple. The ham has that little bit of smoky dryness and salty tang that pineapple pairs so nicely with.”

“But it’s just ham. It is literally the topping most commonly paired with pineapple. It’s so, so -” don’t say boring Kurt, you’re still trying to impress this guy, “predictable.”  

“Predictable, huh?” Blaine said, and oh, he could watch Kurt’s lips purse around pronouncing words that start with “P” all night (even if one of them was “pepperoni”).

“Pepperoni is spicy, hot, it makes your mouth feel alive, Blaine. It - mmpf”

Blaine’s mouth was definitely alive, and it was living all over Kurt’s.

Kurt let out a squeak, but gripped Blaine’s shoulders, pulling him closer as they both settled into the kiss.

“Oh my god!” Blaine pulled away. “That was - I don’t know what that was. I am -”

“Do not say sorry.” Kurt pulled Blaine’s face with both hands and kissed him again, angling his head so their mouths slotted together, his tongue licking into Blaine’s mouth. Kurt pulled away when he finally needed air, and Blaine took a step backward. “Wow, um. Okay.”

They stood for a moment, evaluating each other.

“Would you like to stay for pizza?” Kurt asked, waving a hand backward toward his probably cold pie.

“No,” Blaine said.

“Oh. Well okay, I guess I read this wrong…”

Blaine panicked and grabbed Kurt by the arms. “No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean I won’t stay for that pizza. We can order another.”

“And, um, what should we do while we wait?”

Blaine gave him a sultry gaze. “I have some ideas.”

--

Three months later…

Blaine was sitting on the sofa reading through a magazine when the buzzer from the street went off.

“Hey babe, can you get that?” Kurt shouted from their bedroom. Their bedroom.

“Sure. Are we expecting someone?” Blaine pushed the buzzer. “Hello?”

“Delivery.” came the muddled voice through the tinny speaker.

“It’s a surprise!” Kurt sang from the other room.

They had only been living together for a few days, long enough to have most of Blaine’s things moved in while Kurt moved some of his out-of-season things to Rachel’s old room. It wasn’t like they even had that much stuff, it was just the act of combining their lives that made it seem like so much more.

It had seemed sudden to their friends, when Blaine moved into Kurt’s apartment, but with Rachel cast in a series shooting in Los Angeles and Sam moving back to Kentucky to be with his parents for a while, it had seemed like the obvious choice to both Blaine and Kurt.

“A surprise, huh?”

Blaine opened the door to find...Stoner Brett.

The pizza delivery guy. (They found out his name after another two misdelivered pizzas, and three calls to Vanelli’s. Everyone there called him that. It seemed fitting.)

“Hey, Sto--uh, Brett,” Blaine said.

“Yo, dude.” Brett looked confused a moment.  “Am I in the right place?”

Blaine laughed and fished money out of the jar by the door. “Yeah. I moved.”

“Woah. Cool.” He grinned and put up a fist for Blaine to bump.

Kurt came out of the bedroom as Blaine took the pizza. Brett looked even more confused. “Wow, dude, did you move too?”

“Um, no?” Kurt said, as Blaine put the pizza on the table. Brett stood for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he was even in the right dimension, but eventually shuffled off without a word. Kurt brushed it off. “So, I thought to welcome you, we could have a compromise pizza!”

“Compromise, huh?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, as he wound his arms around Blaine’s waist. “Pineapple all over, but ham on one side for you, and pepperoni on the other side for me,” he punctuated with a wet kiss to Blaine’s lips.

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Blaine cooed, as he leaned over and flipped open the box lid and… “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”

They both stared into the box: the pizza had all the pineapple on only one side; the other side had the ham and pepperoni together.

“Well, we can’t blame Stoner Brett this time,” Kurt mused. “He only delivers them, he doesn’t make them.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“Well, you know how I feel about pork, Blaine. Why settle for just ham and pepperoni when I can have sausage here at home?” He gave Blaine’s ass a squeeze and led them back to the bedroom.

That pie went cold. From then on they started ordering their pizza from Jimmy’s Famous instead.