Sunday drabbles vol. 4
Today's drabbles/ficlets are both set in my Out Of The Closet 'verse, but if you didn't read it, it doesn't matter. You just need to know that in the second one Kurt and Blaine are still just best friends who live really close from each other, and happened to have sex a few times. For science. Or something close enough.
Also, I promised a drabble in this 'verse to ohblainers on tumblr and got stuck right before finishing Care, so I wrote Perfect instead. And of course the writer's block on Care disappeared right then, so I finished it. So now there are two, which is kind of fitting since I made her wait so long. I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and a warning. These are so fluffy I think I need a lemon now, or two. And they are unbeta-ed, and English still isn't my first language.
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PERFECTIt’s after midnight when they finish hauling the last of their things up three flights of stairs and to the apartment. It looks like a dumping zone there, every room littered with boxes and bags, stacks of books and clothes, clothes everywhere, carefully placed on every available piece of furniture. Kurt looks around, slight panic in his eyes.
“Blaine, where did all of this come from? It’s impossible that we’ve had so much stuff in our two apartments!”
Blaine laughs, tired but so happy it seems to bubble in his blood like champagne.
“Kurt, a third of this is your wardrobe. Good thing we have a walk-in closet here.”
“Oh well, it was the most important requirement in our search after all. God, I’m exhausted. I just want to drop on the bed and sleep for twelve hours. Except I need to make the bed first, and find the box with bedding in all this mess before that.”
Kurt moans in exasperation, hand automatically raising to his temple to rub it. Headache, Blaine knows. Kurt’s not one to complain, but Blaine can read his body language without fail now. He closes the distance between them and pulls his boyfriend into embrace, Kurt’s head resting on Blaine’s shoulder immediately. Blaine kisses his temple.
“Go take a shower, I put your shower bag there already, along with a couple of towels. There are no pajamas, but I think we’ll survive?”
“Uhm. I love you, you know?”
“I know. And I love you too. Now go, I’ll make the bed. Do you need Advil?”
“No, it’s not that bad, I just need sleep.”
Once Kurt closes the bathroom door behind him, Blaine springs into action. He can feel the ache in his muscles after the whole day of moving things, but he’s definitely less tired of the two of them. He’s had the last three days off from work to deal with everything, while Kurt spent most of the week between the new play rehearsals and last minute photoshoots, trying to pack his stuff and prepare everything for the move in every free moment. The least Blaine can do is make it easier for him.
He’d placed the big box with bedding strategically in the bedroom when he brought it in, so he makes the bed now - methodically, careful to match the colors properly, just like Kurt likes it. By the time his boyfriend gets out of the bathroom, naked, with his eyes heavy and face tense in pain, the bed is waiting, a bottle of water on the bedside table, lights dimmed. Kurt groans with relief at the sight.
“I don’t know if it’s possible, but I think I’ve just fallen in love with you even more. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. Do you need anything else?”
“Just you?”
“I’ll take out a couple of things and shower, and I’ll be here.”
“Mmm.”
Kurt is already half-asleep, so Blaine tucks him in, kisses his forehead tenderly and quietly leaves the bedroom. Half an hour later, the kitchen prepared for the morning surprise, he showers and goes to bed, where Kurt immediately burrows into his embrace. It’s a reflex he’s developed, moving to be close - even if he’s fast asleep - as soon as Blaine comes to bed.
Before closing his eyes, Blaine takes his time watching the sleeping man in his arms, all soft contours and shadowplay, and he thanks any deity that might be listening. For Kurt. For their life together. For this happiness he didn’t dare to hope for.
***Kurt wakes up to a tickling sensation and a delicate sweet smell. He recognizes the touch on his shoulder even before he opens his eyes; after two months of waking up with Blaine, the morning scratch of his stubble is wonderfully familiar in a way that makes Kurt smile happily. But the other feeling, the smooth, soft something on his cheek, is new, and finally curiosity wins over sleepiness.
The first thing he sees is a beautiful face with a bright smile and sparkling amber eyes. The second, when he glances to the side, is a perfect pink lily in Blaine’s hand, it’s petals touching Kurt’s cheek, it’s smell heady in his nostrils. There are still droplets of water on the flower.
“Hi, beautiful.” Blaine’s voice is warm honey, his body under covers naked and relaxed as he leans on his elbow, ducking in for a morning kiss. “I thought you might like breakfast and something pretty to wake up to.”
Kurt sort of wants to laugh and tease Blaine about how cheesy he is sometimes, but he can’t. Because it’s actually perfect. Waking up like this, with the man he’s loved since they were both still boys, essentially, on the first day in the first apartment they rented together. Waking up to flowers and kisses and, apparently, breakfast. It’s so perfect Kurt still has trouble believing it’s his life now. Their life.
The kissing that’s getting dangerously close to a lot more - not that Kurt minds - is interrupted by gurgling sounds of the coffee machine and the aroma of freshly made coffee that’s seeping into the bedroom. Kurt’s stomach rumbles loudly and they both laugh before Blaine pulls off the duvet, making him squeal.
“Okay, breakfast, my prince.”
The kitchen looks… well, like a kitchen should look. Everything is in its place, the appliances set up on the counters and connected, cupboards already in use. It’s all clean and in order, and the image, the smell permeating the air spells home to Kurt. It’s fresh coffee - the special, rare blend he loves, he can’t help but notice - and lilies, the vase of which is standing on the table. There are fresh croissants and bagels, cottage cheese and jars of honey and his favorite orange-ginger marmalade. And complementing all this is the best image of all. That of his boyfriend.
Kurt’s eyes tear up and before he can stop himself, it just jumps out of his mouth.
“You’re perfect. Marry me.”
CAREKurt realizes something is wrong when he’s sitting over Sunday breakfast, alone in his small kitchen. There’s a thought gnawing at the back of his mind ever since he woke up, a current of worry under his skin, worming its way to his consciousness, and then there it is, and how could he not have noticed it before?
He hasn’t heard from Blaine at all ever since they went home after their yesterday’s session at the group home. Of course, for most people it would be no reason to worry - not even 24 hours of silence, it’s nothing. But not for them. With their constant communication, texting and calling each other at least a dozen of times daily, dropping by, spending most of weekends together unless one of them has a date, such a long silence is unheard of. Blaine said he was feeling under the weather when they parted, that he felt like going back to bed and sleeping it off, so Kurt didn’t bother him with calls yesterday, just texted, asking about his health in the evening, but the phone is still silent now, twelve hours later. Kurt’s anxiety raises considerably when Blaine doesn’t pick up his phone three times in a row now.
Suddenly unable to eat anything more, Kurt gets dressed quickly to go to his friend’s apartment. The key is always attached to the keyring along his own, and he doesn’t bother ringing, just runs up the stairs and lets himself in.
The apartment is quiet, the bag Blaine had with him yesterday stands by the door, his shoes are left carelessly in the middle of the hallway. Kurt comes right in. He doesn’t need to search long - Blaine is in bed, asleep, his face flushed, hair matted with sweat. As much as Kurt can see from the bit of a shoulder visible under a duvet and a tangle of blankets, he’s still in yesterday’s clothes. Moving in closer, Kurt touches his friend’s forehead gently and winces. Blaine’s burning up; he doesn’t even stir when touched.
After looking through kitchen cabinets and the fridge, Kurt decides a quick trip outside is necessary. Ten minutes later he’s back with a small bag from the pharmacy and a carefully sealed Styrofoam cup. Leaving it all in Blaine’s kitchen, Kurt strips his jacket and boots, washes his hands and gets into his caregiver mode. He’s done this before, just not for this man.
Kneeling down by the bed, Kurt cards his fingers through Blaine’s sweaty curls, his touch gentle and soothing against the too-hot skin. Blaine moans quietly and moves, his eyes opening slowly, dazed.
“Kurt?” His voice is hoarse. “Why… you here?”
Kurt takes the glass of water he’s brought from the kitchen, along with a straw, and helps Blaine drink some.
“I was worried about you. Why didn’t you call me? I’d come help.”
“No energy. Don’t want you sick too.”
Blaine’s voice is already better now that his throat isn’t so dry, but he sounds weak. Kurt frowns.
“Don’t worry about me, silly. I don’t get sick. Come on, you need something for the fever, but you have to eat something first.”
“Bleh.”
“Would you rather I gave you a suppository instead of pills? I brought these too, just in case.” Kurt’s mostly teasing, but that’s true, he did and he would use them if he had to.
“Tempting. Your fingers… in... But no. I’ll try… eat.”
“Good. Come on, let’s sit you up.”
The bedding is all damp and yucky, and Blaine’s shirt clings to him, soaked with sweat, but he manages to half-sit, leaning on the pillows. Kurt goes to the kitchen and opens the container he brought with him, hot chicken soup from the tiny restaurant around the corner that he knows to be just as good as homemade, and pours the contents into a bowl.
Blaine tries to resist being spoon-fed, but his own hands shake too much for him to get any of the soup to his mouth, so he has to give up, not without pouting that Kurt finds way too adorable. He stops after just a dozen spoonfuls, unable to eat any more, so Kurt doesn’t push. It’s enough that he ate something. Some more water and a couple of Advil pills later, the pillows and the duvet flipped to the dry side, Kurt helps Blaine lie back down. That’s as much as he can do for the moment.
Blaine grabs his hand as Kurt turns to go out of the room.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not. I’ll just look through your closet to find you some fresh bedding.”
“But come back?”
“I will, I promise. Close your eyes, you need to rest.”
Blaine is still awake when Kurt comes back to his bedroom half an hour later. His eyes are clearer, the feverish flush mostly gone, the thermometer Kurt managed to find in a bathroom cabinet shows that his temperature is almost back to normal. Kurt sits at the edge of the bed.
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
“Yucky. All sweaty and smelly. I need a shower.”
“Okay, let’s try to get you up.”
“Kurt, I’m fi- Oh.“
“Sure you are. Just dizzy, right? Okay, tell me when you’re good to walk.”
After a few minutes Blaine is fine enough to get to the bathroom on his own, but taking off his clothes is still a challenge, so Kurt helps, despite Blaine’s blush and protests. He doesn’t even care that he’s looking at the object of his secret, unrequited love naked right now. It’s not the first time, and Blaine doesn’t need emotional, secretly crushing best friends today, or sex - he needs being taken care of, so that’s what Kurt does, pushing everything else aside. He’s like the most patient nurse, leaving Blaine there to give him some privacy, then coming back with fresh, warm pajamas, stripping his own shirt and helping Blaine wash the sweat off his body and hair, since he’s still too weak to do it effectively. Kurt helps him get dressed then, blow-dries his hair while Blaine sits on the toilet lid, his head leaning heavily against Kurt’s stomach. He’s already exhausted and Kurt congratulates himself on thinking ahead.
The extra bedding he’d found is already on the sofa, arranged so that Blaine can comfortably watch or read something, listen to music if he chooses to, talk with Kurt sitting in the armchair opposite, or, well, sleep. Which he does right now, as soon as Kurt feeds him some more reheated soup.
But even as he falls asleep, his hand slips to grab Kurt’s and hold on. And Kurt knows with absolute certainty that no matter how uncomfortable his position on the edge of the armchair is right now, no matter that he has nothing to do within reach or that he really needs to pee, he’ll sit like this however long Blaine wants to hold his hand in his sleep.
Also, I promised a drabble in this 'verse to ohblainers on tumblr and got stuck right before finishing Care, so I wrote Perfect instead. And of course the writer's block on Care disappeared right then, so I finished it. So now there are two, which is kind of fitting since I made her wait so long. I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and a warning. These are so fluffy I think I need a lemon now, or two. And they are unbeta-ed, and English still isn't my first language.
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PERFECTIt’s after midnight when they finish hauling the last of their things up three flights of stairs and to the apartment. It looks like a dumping zone there, every room littered with boxes and bags, stacks of books and clothes, clothes everywhere, carefully placed on every available piece of furniture. Kurt looks around, slight panic in his eyes.
“Blaine, where did all of this come from? It’s impossible that we’ve had so much stuff in our two apartments!”
Blaine laughs, tired but so happy it seems to bubble in his blood like champagne.
“Kurt, a third of this is your wardrobe. Good thing we have a walk-in closet here.”
“Oh well, it was the most important requirement in our search after all. God, I’m exhausted. I just want to drop on the bed and sleep for twelve hours. Except I need to make the bed first, and find the box with bedding in all this mess before that.”
Kurt moans in exasperation, hand automatically raising to his temple to rub it. Headache, Blaine knows. Kurt’s not one to complain, but Blaine can read his body language without fail now. He closes the distance between them and pulls his boyfriend into embrace, Kurt’s head resting on Blaine’s shoulder immediately. Blaine kisses his temple.
“Go take a shower, I put your shower bag there already, along with a couple of towels. There are no pajamas, but I think we’ll survive?”
“Uhm. I love you, you know?”
“I know. And I love you too. Now go, I’ll make the bed. Do you need Advil?”
“No, it’s not that bad, I just need sleep.”
Once Kurt closes the bathroom door behind him, Blaine springs into action. He can feel the ache in his muscles after the whole day of moving things, but he’s definitely less tired of the two of them. He’s had the last three days off from work to deal with everything, while Kurt spent most of the week between the new play rehearsals and last minute photoshoots, trying to pack his stuff and prepare everything for the move in every free moment. The least Blaine can do is make it easier for him.
He’d placed the big box with bedding strategically in the bedroom when he brought it in, so he makes the bed now - methodically, careful to match the colors properly, just like Kurt likes it. By the time his boyfriend gets out of the bathroom, naked, with his eyes heavy and face tense in pain, the bed is waiting, a bottle of water on the bedside table, lights dimmed. Kurt groans with relief at the sight.
“I don’t know if it’s possible, but I think I’ve just fallen in love with you even more. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. Do you need anything else?”
“Just you?”
“I’ll take out a couple of things and shower, and I’ll be here.”
“Mmm.”
Kurt is already half-asleep, so Blaine tucks him in, kisses his forehead tenderly and quietly leaves the bedroom. Half an hour later, the kitchen prepared for the morning surprise, he showers and goes to bed, where Kurt immediately burrows into his embrace. It’s a reflex he’s developed, moving to be close - even if he’s fast asleep - as soon as Blaine comes to bed.
Before closing his eyes, Blaine takes his time watching the sleeping man in his arms, all soft contours and shadowplay, and he thanks any deity that might be listening. For Kurt. For their life together. For this happiness he didn’t dare to hope for.
***Kurt wakes up to a tickling sensation and a delicate sweet smell. He recognizes the touch on his shoulder even before he opens his eyes; after two months of waking up with Blaine, the morning scratch of his stubble is wonderfully familiar in a way that makes Kurt smile happily. But the other feeling, the smooth, soft something on his cheek, is new, and finally curiosity wins over sleepiness.
The first thing he sees is a beautiful face with a bright smile and sparkling amber eyes. The second, when he glances to the side, is a perfect pink lily in Blaine’s hand, it’s petals touching Kurt’s cheek, it’s smell heady in his nostrils. There are still droplets of water on the flower.
“Hi, beautiful.” Blaine’s voice is warm honey, his body under covers naked and relaxed as he leans on his elbow, ducking in for a morning kiss. “I thought you might like breakfast and something pretty to wake up to.”
Kurt sort of wants to laugh and tease Blaine about how cheesy he is sometimes, but he can’t. Because it’s actually perfect. Waking up like this, with the man he’s loved since they were both still boys, essentially, on the first day in the first apartment they rented together. Waking up to flowers and kisses and, apparently, breakfast. It’s so perfect Kurt still has trouble believing it’s his life now. Their life.
The kissing that’s getting dangerously close to a lot more - not that Kurt minds - is interrupted by gurgling sounds of the coffee machine and the aroma of freshly made coffee that’s seeping into the bedroom. Kurt’s stomach rumbles loudly and they both laugh before Blaine pulls off the duvet, making him squeal.
“Okay, breakfast, my prince.”
The kitchen looks… well, like a kitchen should look. Everything is in its place, the appliances set up on the counters and connected, cupboards already in use. It’s all clean and in order, and the image, the smell permeating the air spells home to Kurt. It’s fresh coffee - the special, rare blend he loves, he can’t help but notice - and lilies, the vase of which is standing on the table. There are fresh croissants and bagels, cottage cheese and jars of honey and his favorite orange-ginger marmalade. And complementing all this is the best image of all. That of his boyfriend.
Kurt’s eyes tear up and before he can stop himself, it just jumps out of his mouth.
“You’re perfect. Marry me.”
CAREKurt realizes something is wrong when he’s sitting over Sunday breakfast, alone in his small kitchen. There’s a thought gnawing at the back of his mind ever since he woke up, a current of worry under his skin, worming its way to his consciousness, and then there it is, and how could he not have noticed it before?
He hasn’t heard from Blaine at all ever since they went home after their yesterday’s session at the group home. Of course, for most people it would be no reason to worry - not even 24 hours of silence, it’s nothing. But not for them. With their constant communication, texting and calling each other at least a dozen of times daily, dropping by, spending most of weekends together unless one of them has a date, such a long silence is unheard of. Blaine said he was feeling under the weather when they parted, that he felt like going back to bed and sleeping it off, so Kurt didn’t bother him with calls yesterday, just texted, asking about his health in the evening, but the phone is still silent now, twelve hours later. Kurt’s anxiety raises considerably when Blaine doesn’t pick up his phone three times in a row now.
Suddenly unable to eat anything more, Kurt gets dressed quickly to go to his friend’s apartment. The key is always attached to the keyring along his own, and he doesn’t bother ringing, just runs up the stairs and lets himself in.
The apartment is quiet, the bag Blaine had with him yesterday stands by the door, his shoes are left carelessly in the middle of the hallway. Kurt comes right in. He doesn’t need to search long - Blaine is in bed, asleep, his face flushed, hair matted with sweat. As much as Kurt can see from the bit of a shoulder visible under a duvet and a tangle of blankets, he’s still in yesterday’s clothes. Moving in closer, Kurt touches his friend’s forehead gently and winces. Blaine’s burning up; he doesn’t even stir when touched.
After looking through kitchen cabinets and the fridge, Kurt decides a quick trip outside is necessary. Ten minutes later he’s back with a small bag from the pharmacy and a carefully sealed Styrofoam cup. Leaving it all in Blaine’s kitchen, Kurt strips his jacket and boots, washes his hands and gets into his caregiver mode. He’s done this before, just not for this man.
Kneeling down by the bed, Kurt cards his fingers through Blaine’s sweaty curls, his touch gentle and soothing against the too-hot skin. Blaine moans quietly and moves, his eyes opening slowly, dazed.
“Kurt?” His voice is hoarse. “Why… you here?”
Kurt takes the glass of water he’s brought from the kitchen, along with a straw, and helps Blaine drink some.
“I was worried about you. Why didn’t you call me? I’d come help.”
“No energy. Don’t want you sick too.”
Blaine’s voice is already better now that his throat isn’t so dry, but he sounds weak. Kurt frowns.
“Don’t worry about me, silly. I don’t get sick. Come on, you need something for the fever, but you have to eat something first.”
“Bleh.”
“Would you rather I gave you a suppository instead of pills? I brought these too, just in case.” Kurt’s mostly teasing, but that’s true, he did and he would use them if he had to.
“Tempting. Your fingers… in... But no. I’ll try… eat.”
“Good. Come on, let’s sit you up.”
The bedding is all damp and yucky, and Blaine’s shirt clings to him, soaked with sweat, but he manages to half-sit, leaning on the pillows. Kurt goes to the kitchen and opens the container he brought with him, hot chicken soup from the tiny restaurant around the corner that he knows to be just as good as homemade, and pours the contents into a bowl.
Blaine tries to resist being spoon-fed, but his own hands shake too much for him to get any of the soup to his mouth, so he has to give up, not without pouting that Kurt finds way too adorable. He stops after just a dozen spoonfuls, unable to eat any more, so Kurt doesn’t push. It’s enough that he ate something. Some more water and a couple of Advil pills later, the pillows and the duvet flipped to the dry side, Kurt helps Blaine lie back down. That’s as much as he can do for the moment.
Blaine grabs his hand as Kurt turns to go out of the room.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not. I’ll just look through your closet to find you some fresh bedding.”
“But come back?”
“I will, I promise. Close your eyes, you need to rest.”
Blaine is still awake when Kurt comes back to his bedroom half an hour later. His eyes are clearer, the feverish flush mostly gone, the thermometer Kurt managed to find in a bathroom cabinet shows that his temperature is almost back to normal. Kurt sits at the edge of the bed.
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
“Yucky. All sweaty and smelly. I need a shower.”
“Okay, let’s try to get you up.”
“Kurt, I’m fi- Oh.“
“Sure you are. Just dizzy, right? Okay, tell me when you’re good to walk.”
After a few minutes Blaine is fine enough to get to the bathroom on his own, but taking off his clothes is still a challenge, so Kurt helps, despite Blaine’s blush and protests. He doesn’t even care that he’s looking at the object of his secret, unrequited love naked right now. It’s not the first time, and Blaine doesn’t need emotional, secretly crushing best friends today, or sex - he needs being taken care of, so that’s what Kurt does, pushing everything else aside. He’s like the most patient nurse, leaving Blaine there to give him some privacy, then coming back with fresh, warm pajamas, stripping his own shirt and helping Blaine wash the sweat off his body and hair, since he’s still too weak to do it effectively. Kurt helps him get dressed then, blow-dries his hair while Blaine sits on the toilet lid, his head leaning heavily against Kurt’s stomach. He’s already exhausted and Kurt congratulates himself on thinking ahead.
The extra bedding he’d found is already on the sofa, arranged so that Blaine can comfortably watch or read something, listen to music if he chooses to, talk with Kurt sitting in the armchair opposite, or, well, sleep. Which he does right now, as soon as Kurt feeds him some more reheated soup.
But even as he falls asleep, his hand slips to grab Kurt’s and hold on. And Kurt knows with absolute certainty that no matter how uncomfortable his position on the edge of the armchair is right now, no matter that he has nothing to do within reach or that he really needs to pee, he’ll sit like this however long Blaine wants to hold his hand in his sleep.