And I Was A Cartographer
Title: And I Was A Cartographer
Rating: G
Characters: Kurt/Blaine
Words: 1,062
Spoilers: 2.16, Original Songs
Summary: Kurt is half-asleep. Blaine could never really be annoyed by this. (Otherwise known as, straight-up cuddles, some time after Original Songs but before Born This Way.)
Author's Note: This is a response to a prompt from lookninjas for cuddlefic. She asked for a sort of role-reversal of her absolutely adorable, completely heart-melting fic, Sunbeam, in which Kurt would be the one who is sleepy and Blaine the one who is affectionate, and I was way more than happy to oblige. I hope it's to your liking, my dear. (Also, less than two days. I am so awesome at not writing fanfiction. Except not really.)
I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs;
And I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hair.
- Andrew Bird, "Armchairs"
The image of Kurt asleep was something that Blaine still wasn’t used to. Kurt was kinetic stillness most of the time; a potential energy, a vibrating little hum that filled whatever room he was in. And then, when that potential was released, Kurt was something brilliant and untouchable and far away, fireworks or a supernova, something to be marveled at and kept back from. When he was asleep, Kurt - wasn’t. He was almost unrecognizable. The relaxation of his face, his limbs, spread ragdoll and boneless away from his body.
From the doorway, Blaine could see the slow rise and fall of Kurt’s chest. The light through the window was twilight-tinged, blue and gray and faint, falling over Kurt’s waist, his arms, half of his face, throwing the rest of the room into a gentle half-dark except for the triangle of light from the hallway in which Blaine stood, watching, debating the merits of going or staying.
It was the books that decided it for him, in the end. Kurt was surrounded by them, lying half on top of them, obviously having nodded off at some point in the middle of studying. He was creasing the pages of his US History textbook, and the metal spiral of a notebook was pressed against his side, twisted and uncomfortable.
Blaine shut the door, and all that was left was the pale blue light through the window.
Kurt shifted and murmured something low and unintelligible when Blaine made it to the bed and reached carefully down to take the textbook from beneath Kurt’s hip. He stopped, looking to Kurt’s face, half with the hope that Kurt would wake up, half with the fear. But Kurt only subsided again, relaxing into the place where the textbook was no longer pressed against him, and it made it easier for Blaine to extricate the notebook, and the pen beside his hand, and the smattering of other papers littering his comforter. He set them neatly and quietly on Kurt’s desk beside the bed, and it was only when he was turning back that he saw Kurt’s eyes half-open and watching him.
“Y’r here,” he mumbled, looking vaguely confused, but pleased.
Blaine smiled. “I’m here.” He pressed a hand against Kurt’s forehead and smoothed his bangs back. “Sleep.”
Kurt’s eyes fluttered shut again. Blaine felt the affectionate tug in his chest, and he tucked Kurt’s hair back a needless second time, just to touch again. Then he reached down to the thin, folded blanket at the end of the bed and pulled it carefully up over Kurt to his shoulders. Kurt shifted down into the warmth, letting out a sighing breath, and Blaine bent to press a kiss to his forehead, before he turned and started back for the door.
But Kurt’s hand caught his before he had taken more than two steps.
“Stay,” Kurt mumbled.
Blaine looked back over his shoulder. Kurt’s eyes were open and looking up from beneath the edge of the blanket, lidded and unfocused, but present enough. Blaine frowned, turning. “Are you sure?”
“’Course,” Kurt muttered, and pulled on Blaine’s hand so that Blaine half-stumbled toward the bed, almost losing his balance and tumbling over onto him. Blaine laughed in a surprised exhale, and Kurt smiled a little before burrowing his head into the pillows again, reaching back to pat the place between himself and the wall.
“I’m going to have to climb over you,” Blaine murmured, amused.
“What’ver.”
Blaine toed off his shoes and carefully, slowly set his knee on the mattress, then swung over so that he landed with a slight bounce on the other side of Kurt, sitting on top of the blanket.
Kurt looked back over his shoulder blearily. “Too tall,” he said. “Lie down. Under.” He tugged at the blanket, pulling part of it out from under Blaine.
Blaine smiled. Kurt half-asleep apparently meant Kurt hardly capable of the English language. He did hold himself up and pull the blanket out all the way, but hesitated before settling under it. His hands went to undo the buttons of his blazer, and he shrugged it off, then leaned back over Kurt to drape it on the back of Kurt’s desk chair. He settled on his side and pulled the blanket up.
Kurt shifted back against him, humming, all warmth and soft angles and languid little sighs. Blaine felt the atmosphere melt into him, through his body, a slow loosening of tense muscles as his breath slowed and his eyes closed, and he wrapped his arm around Kurt’s waist and pressed his nose against the nape of Kurt’s neck.
“Should sleep, too,” Kurt sighed.
“Maybe.” Blaine pressed closer against Kurt’s back, the long sleeve of his button-up sliding against the wool of Kurt’s sweater as he held on tighter. “Maybe I want to stay awake.”
“Mmmwhy?”
Blaine smiled against Kurt’s skin. “This is nice. Why sleep?”
Kurt hummed in agreement, then slowly rolled to his back and to his other side, facing Blaine. He shifted down a little and tucked his head against Blaine’s shoulder. “Had this dream,” he murmured.
Blaine ran his hand up and down Kurt’s back. “What dream?”
“You,” Kurt breathed against him. “Same bed.” His arm wrapped around Blaine’s waist and he pressed closer, tangling their legs together. “Sleeping.”
Blaine hummed his amusement down against Kurt’s hair. “You’re really articulate when you’re tired.”
“Shut up,” Kurt said easily, like an automatic response. Blaine bit down on a low laugh.
They lay there for a while, some indeterminate amount of time, breathing in each other’s space. Beneath his hand, Blaine felt Kurt’s breathing even out again, watched his face relax and soften. He let himself drift, eyes closed and head resting against Kurt’s. He felt the heaviness of the dark and of the blanket and of Kurt so close against him drag him further and further down.
“Was it a good dream?” he asked finally, slow and quiet and sleepy.
“Obviously,” Kurt muttered into his shirt. He let out a warm breath that ghosted over the skin of Blaine’s neck. “You?”
“Obviously.” And it didn't matter that it didn't make any sense.
Rating: G
Characters: Kurt/Blaine
Words: 1,062
Spoilers: 2.16, Original Songs
Summary: Kurt is half-asleep. Blaine could never really be annoyed by this. (Otherwise known as, straight-up cuddles, some time after Original Songs but before Born This Way.)
Author's Note: This is a response to a prompt from lookninjas for cuddlefic. She asked for a sort of role-reversal of her absolutely adorable, completely heart-melting fic, Sunbeam, in which Kurt would be the one who is sleepy and Blaine the one who is affectionate, and I was way more than happy to oblige. I hope it's to your liking, my dear. (Also, less than two days. I am so awesome at not writing fanfiction. Except not really.)
I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs;
And I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hair.
- Andrew Bird, "Armchairs"
The image of Kurt asleep was something that Blaine still wasn’t used to. Kurt was kinetic stillness most of the time; a potential energy, a vibrating little hum that filled whatever room he was in. And then, when that potential was released, Kurt was something brilliant and untouchable and far away, fireworks or a supernova, something to be marveled at and kept back from. When he was asleep, Kurt - wasn’t. He was almost unrecognizable. The relaxation of his face, his limbs, spread ragdoll and boneless away from his body.
From the doorway, Blaine could see the slow rise and fall of Kurt’s chest. The light through the window was twilight-tinged, blue and gray and faint, falling over Kurt’s waist, his arms, half of his face, throwing the rest of the room into a gentle half-dark except for the triangle of light from the hallway in which Blaine stood, watching, debating the merits of going or staying.
It was the books that decided it for him, in the end. Kurt was surrounded by them, lying half on top of them, obviously having nodded off at some point in the middle of studying. He was creasing the pages of his US History textbook, and the metal spiral of a notebook was pressed against his side, twisted and uncomfortable.
Blaine shut the door, and all that was left was the pale blue light through the window.
Kurt shifted and murmured something low and unintelligible when Blaine made it to the bed and reached carefully down to take the textbook from beneath Kurt’s hip. He stopped, looking to Kurt’s face, half with the hope that Kurt would wake up, half with the fear. But Kurt only subsided again, relaxing into the place where the textbook was no longer pressed against him, and it made it easier for Blaine to extricate the notebook, and the pen beside his hand, and the smattering of other papers littering his comforter. He set them neatly and quietly on Kurt’s desk beside the bed, and it was only when he was turning back that he saw Kurt’s eyes half-open and watching him.
“Y’r here,” he mumbled, looking vaguely confused, but pleased.
Blaine smiled. “I’m here.” He pressed a hand against Kurt’s forehead and smoothed his bangs back. “Sleep.”
Kurt’s eyes fluttered shut again. Blaine felt the affectionate tug in his chest, and he tucked Kurt’s hair back a needless second time, just to touch again. Then he reached down to the thin, folded blanket at the end of the bed and pulled it carefully up over Kurt to his shoulders. Kurt shifted down into the warmth, letting out a sighing breath, and Blaine bent to press a kiss to his forehead, before he turned and started back for the door.
But Kurt’s hand caught his before he had taken more than two steps.
“Stay,” Kurt mumbled.
Blaine looked back over his shoulder. Kurt’s eyes were open and looking up from beneath the edge of the blanket, lidded and unfocused, but present enough. Blaine frowned, turning. “Are you sure?”
“’Course,” Kurt muttered, and pulled on Blaine’s hand so that Blaine half-stumbled toward the bed, almost losing his balance and tumbling over onto him. Blaine laughed in a surprised exhale, and Kurt smiled a little before burrowing his head into the pillows again, reaching back to pat the place between himself and the wall.
“I’m going to have to climb over you,” Blaine murmured, amused.
“What’ver.”
Blaine toed off his shoes and carefully, slowly set his knee on the mattress, then swung over so that he landed with a slight bounce on the other side of Kurt, sitting on top of the blanket.
Kurt looked back over his shoulder blearily. “Too tall,” he said. “Lie down. Under.” He tugged at the blanket, pulling part of it out from under Blaine.
Blaine smiled. Kurt half-asleep apparently meant Kurt hardly capable of the English language. He did hold himself up and pull the blanket out all the way, but hesitated before settling under it. His hands went to undo the buttons of his blazer, and he shrugged it off, then leaned back over Kurt to drape it on the back of Kurt’s desk chair. He settled on his side and pulled the blanket up.
Kurt shifted back against him, humming, all warmth and soft angles and languid little sighs. Blaine felt the atmosphere melt into him, through his body, a slow loosening of tense muscles as his breath slowed and his eyes closed, and he wrapped his arm around Kurt’s waist and pressed his nose against the nape of Kurt’s neck.
“Should sleep, too,” Kurt sighed.
“Maybe.” Blaine pressed closer against Kurt’s back, the long sleeve of his button-up sliding against the wool of Kurt’s sweater as he held on tighter. “Maybe I want to stay awake.”
“Mmmwhy?”
Blaine smiled against Kurt’s skin. “This is nice. Why sleep?”
Kurt hummed in agreement, then slowly rolled to his back and to his other side, facing Blaine. He shifted down a little and tucked his head against Blaine’s shoulder. “Had this dream,” he murmured.
Blaine ran his hand up and down Kurt’s back. “What dream?”
“You,” Kurt breathed against him. “Same bed.” His arm wrapped around Blaine’s waist and he pressed closer, tangling their legs together. “Sleeping.”
Blaine hummed his amusement down against Kurt’s hair. “You’re really articulate when you’re tired.”
“Shut up,” Kurt said easily, like an automatic response. Blaine bit down on a low laugh.
They lay there for a while, some indeterminate amount of time, breathing in each other’s space. Beneath his hand, Blaine felt Kurt’s breathing even out again, watched his face relax and soften. He let himself drift, eyes closed and head resting against Kurt’s. He felt the heaviness of the dark and of the blanket and of Kurt so close against him drag him further and further down.
“Was it a good dream?” he asked finally, slow and quiet and sleepy.
“Obviously,” Kurt muttered into his shirt. He let out a warm breath that ghosted over the skin of Blaine’s neck. “You?”
“Obviously.” And it didn't matter that it didn't make any sense.