prompt: Blaine rants to Kurt over Skype about his twerking incident. Kurt wants to see a demonstration.
episode 5.05 reaction fic
"It was so embarrassing and I just know she’s going to show everyone at Glee tomorrow,” Blaine whines, collapsing back into his pillows and adjusting the laptop so Kurt can still see his face. “And I thought your dad walking in on us with the whipped cream that one time was bad enough.”
Kurt shudders at that particular memory. “We both made a pact to never bring that up again, Blaine. And what exactly did Tina do that’s got you so upset?” He narrows his eyes. “Do I need to talk to her again?”
"No, no, it’s just—" Blaine sighs, biting nervously at his lip before he meets Kurt’s eyes. "She caught me twerking, Kurt."
"Twerking, like…" Kurt moves his hand up and down in an approximation of a booty bouncing and Blaine nods solemnly. "Oh. That’s— Oh my. And you were doing this at school?”
colfhummel prompted: Klaine with bottom!Kurt so here it is ♥
warning: rimming & barebacking. NC-17.
"Have I ever told you," Blaine says, brushing warm kisses down Kurt’s spine, over the smooth skin of his back, "that I’m selfishly glad your butt isn’t more muscular?"
Kurt huffs out a surprised laugh, craning his head to stare back at Blaine when Blaine’s mouth reaches the dip of Kurt’s long back, the dimples just above the curve of his ass. “What? Blaine, what on earth—”
"You’re in such good shape, and god, don’t get me wrong, I find it hot." He shares a knowing smile with Kurt, since they’re both well aware of how much Blaine loves his muscles. "But your ass is still so round and soft.”
“Hello, you cute little curly poodle! Is this seat taken?”
“No. It’s all yours.”
“Buy a girl a drink?”
“Ma’am, I’m not looking for company.”
“Ma’am? Ouch! I’m barely old enough to be your….anyway. I asked for a drink, not company. But I think I need to call PETA on whoever made poodle have this sad puppy dog face. C’mon. Let me cheer you up.”
“I’m married. See the ring?”
“My last three boyfriends had rings like that, honey. How long?”
“And you left her at home?”
“I’m married to a man.”
“Oh. Well, crap, did I walk into a gay bar again?”
“Eh, no biggie. The gay boys have no greater friend than Miss April Rhodes. And you are?”
“Nice to meet me, Blaine. So tell me, if you’re a happy newlywed who’s not looking for company, why are you sitting here alone and nursing that cocktail?
“I’m a bad husband.”
“Did you accidently take all of his valium too? Been there, honey.”
“Unintentionally sleep with the pool boy? It happens.”
“Empty his bank account and wake up in Singapore?”
“God, no. Who are you?”
“I’m a lady with experience and you should listen to experience. After you buy her a drink, I mean. Now what did you do?”
“I accidently washed a four hundred dollar sweater that is dry clean only. Now it’ll fit our cat. And we’ll probably have a huge fight. And say mean things. And I’ll storm out and end up here. So I just skipped the fight and came here before he sees the sweater.”
“He sounds like a terror. Oooh! Does he have mob ties? I learned about that the hard way.”
“No. You can’t talk bad about him! He’s not a terror. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“But you often have screaming fights?”
“No. Never. But since we got married, I feel like I am always screwing up things around the house. He has to be sick of it and me.”
“Honey, we all falter. Hell, I’ve made it an Olympic sport and took the gold medal. But tell me, poodle, when he put that ring on your finger, did he ask you to be perfect?”
“Did he promise to never forgive you?”
“Did you promise to hide from your mistakes?”
“Then I think you need to give me your cocktail and go home. You’ll have the fight and then have glorious make-up sex. Who knows? Maybe next time, he’ll be the one who screws up. And you’ll fight again and have more glorious make-up sex. I never got the marriage thing to work ‘cause I never stuck around for the fight or the make-up sex. I always came to the bar. Did you hear what I just said, poodle?”
““Yes, I heard you. You’re right. I need to go home now.”
“Oh that’s sweet, but I meant did you hear me say you should give me that cocktail you aren’t drinking. Give it! Thank you! Now, scoot.”
“Thanks, Miss April.”
“Whatever. Bartender! Does that sign say karaoke tonight? You got any songs from ‘Wicked?’ I love that show.”
Oh this is delightful. And now I want her to find out that Blaine’s husband is the boy she gave muscle mags to once upon a time, because I can only imagine her reaction.
genuinewarmdecentfeeling prompted: Kurt and Blaine dress each other up in their own clothes for fun and then it turns into a weird kinky Kurt-as-Blaine/Blaine-as-Kurt roleplay thing
“See?” Blaine says when he comes out of the bathroom after his final touch up and spins around for Kurt. “Told you we don’t dress too similar.”
“I never said that.” Kurt laughs, because all he did was mention that it might be a bit boring to go as each other to Rachel’s masquerade party when they both own pieces the other one wouldn’t mind wearing on an ordinary week day (Blaine had quickly pointed out that Kurt has never ever, as far as he knows, gone outside in a shirt with cute animals in tiny print on it, thank you very much, and Kurt had finally relented).
Looking at Blaine now, though, in tight white jeans and fitted button-up shirt with a black vest over it, Kurt’s happy he went with Blaine’s idea.
No wonder Blaine practically jumps him so often if that is what he looks like.
Blaine’s crafting gets absurd. This is not intended to be realistic. 425 words.
Weirdest of all Blaine’s crafting experiments was the igloo.
Blaine had been grounded after getting detention for one too many mid-class performances on top of desks. This grounding had put an end to their standing Friday night post-family-dinner date, and their Saturday afternoon coffee/study date, and their Saturday evening watch-bad-tv-and-eat-popcorn date. By Sunday, Kurt was going through Blaine withdrawal. Luckily for Kurt, the Andersons were simultaneously going through too-much-Blaine-at-home-itis, and they were agreeable to a modified grounding, which meant that Kurt was invited over to do homework Sunday afternoon.
“Hey Kurt!” Blaine said as soon as Kurt stepped out of his car. He literally bounced his way into Kurt’s arms.
Set during 5x01: “Love, Love, Love”
The band and the crowd are far away; all Kurt can hear is Blaine’s soft, labored breaths in his ear—lips brushing Kurt’s earlobe.
“Kurt, come somewhere with me,” Blaine whispers.
Kurt gets about three sentences into his post-piercing chat with Blaine before the lisp starts making him really, really self-conscious.
"I hate thih," he grumbles. "The hwelling."
"How long is it supposed to last?" Blaine asks sweetly, his pajama’d image on the screen lagging just a little behind the sound. "Did they say?"
"The webthite thayh eight to ten dayth?" Kurt frowns. "But I can’t have - hot. No coffee! I’m gonna have hwelling and headache. Terrible. I love it but ho far…annoying.”
Thanks to Nachochang
Blaine, in his 50’s teenage heartthrob glory, loves all things vintage. From his collection of bowties, to his antique cameras, to his turntable and assortment of vinyl records. Not that Kurt doesn’t appreciate these things himself, he just picks and chooses different aspects from different generations to create a style that is purely Kurt Hummel. And part of that style is NOT what he sees on his walls right now.
"Because, Blaine, we are gay. We are not hanging up Norman Rockwell paintings in our living room."
"Its not Norman Rockwell, Kurt. It’s John Falter. And besides, didn’t you hear? Recent rumors are suggesting that Norman Rockwell may have been gay. So they would actually be appropriate."
Kurt shoots Blaine an exasperated look and turns to inspect the paintings. Each one is an old Saturday Evening Post cover blown up onto canvas. The aesthetic is pleasing enough, but Kurt feels wary of anything that portrays the ideal American family as a mom and a dad with 2.5 kids.
"Hmmm," says Kurt contemplatively "I do really like the look and feel of this one. Reminds me of Mr. Schue trying to teach us something in Glee Club."
Blaine looks at the painting in front of him and giggles. “That one is called ‘Jamming With Dad’. I like that one too.”
"You only like it because there is a flugelhorn in it." Kurt teases him lightly.
"Well, you know I love my flugelhorns." Blaine walks over to the turntable in the corner and lays the needle on the record. Miles Davis’ ‘Miles Ahead' starts to play. “May I have this dance?” Blaine asks, offering his hand to Kurt.
Kurt takes it and Blaine pulls him to his chest. They start swaying on the spot, one of Blaine’s arms going around Kurt’s waist and the other holding Kurt’s hand to his own heart.
Kurt sighs in contentment and lay his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “I think I’m reconsidering my stance on those paintings. I think they just might be perfect.”
Make it stop
Didn’t I tell you? Loud. As. Fuck.
I honestly never thought you were telling the truth
I mean, they fall asleep on Skype together, that’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen
I’d sneak out but they probably think I’m asleep
Well, Rach, to be honest they probably don’t give a shit what you’re up to. Any stories to relieve how boring this graveyard shift is?
Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge
Day 05: Echo
2x16 snapshot, early!Klaine, 100 words.
It’s been following him all day. That same musical tweeting that Kurt had matched note for note, where he could.
Gone, of course. He won’t hear it again, and yet still he wishes it would stop. It echoes incessantly in his ears, leaving him wishing for some peace as he works on Pavarotti’s casket.
It’s there as Blaine arrives to tell him about their duet.
It’s there as Blaine’s hand covers his own, a thrill chasing up Kurt’s spine.
The only time the echo fades is when Blaine’s lips alight on his own—finally—and the rest of the world falls silent.