Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent 2018 prompt 'language'.
"Looking ahead at our next center spread …" Isabelle puts up a hand before a bidding war of suggestions begins. "Sorry, guys. I know you all have great ideas, but I'm handling things a bit differently this time. I'm going to borrow from our middle school days and divide you into groups of two. This way we're not a six-person team staring down a deadline. We're individual groups sharing the load … groups that Anna can lay blame on if one drops the ball. Less of a chance of all of us getting laid off at once. Kidding! Just kidding! Sort of … moving on …"
Nervous laughter makes its uncomfortable way around the table, accompanied by uneasy looks. Blaine glances at Kurt, hoping he'll share in his anxiety, but he's absorbed in his sketchbook, getting a head start while Isabelle continues.
"Next month's spread will focus on signature accessories. It's going to play out like a story in three parts. Each part needs a symbol – a single entity that embodies the element it represents. Our three categories are head wear, shoes, and jewelry. I want Carlos and Cynthia on head wear – everything from hats to hijabs; Max and Simone, you two take shoes; which leaves Kurt and Blaine. You're on jewelry. All kinds of jewelry, but do a spotlight piece on diamonds - white diamonds, chocolate diamonds, champagne diamonds. You guys know what I like."
Kurt finally looks up from his work. He catches Blaine's eye and mouths the word, "Yes!" But before Blaine can mouth anything in response, he goes back to his sketchbook. Blaine watches him turn to a clean page. He scribbles something down, tears it out, folds it once, and shoots it across the table at Blaine. Blaine snatches it before anyone around him can grab it. He turns his back to his neighbors and opens the letter. At first blush, it doesn't make any sense. He flips it upside down, then turns it around again, unsure which way is actually up.
For a man who draws like Monet, Kurt has the penmanship of a drunk doctor.
Blaine struggles with it a minute longer, but after he finds the right combination of squinting his eyes and tilting his head, his mouth goes dry, because what's written on that paper, in Blaine's eyes, is unmistakable:
Thinking about your cock.
The world stops spinning. Whatever Isabelle is saying becomes gibberish because Kurt has gone back to his sketchbook and his furious scribbling, shielding his latest masterpiece from the eyes around him, and Blaine wonders – is he drawing what he's thinking? Is there a chance that right here, in this boardroom, surrounded by every member of Vogue's senior design team, in full view of at least three people who could lean back and peek, Kurt is drawing Blaine's cock?
'Oh my God!' Blaine thinks, nearly moaning the words out loud.
Blaine has waited so long for any sign from Kurt that he's interested in him. And now, after countless lunches, a few platonic coffee dates, and one unfortunate inebriated exchange during last year's Christmas party, Kurt has made his move. Blaine needs to reciprocate. He needs to let Kurt know that he feels the same way … now. If Kurt is willing to be this bold, Blaine has to be bold, too. He tears off a sheet of paper from his own writing pad, jots down a note, folds it twice, and slides it across the table.
It overshoots the edge and lands in Kurt's lap.
Kurt stops drawing. He picks it up, unfolds it, and reads what Blaine wrote:
God, I want you so bad!
Kurt swallows hard. He drops his pencil.
And his cheeks start to glow.
His eyes snap up. He finds Blaine staring at him with smoldering intensity, and even though he looks like he's about to burst into flames, he smiles.
"Alright, guys!" Isabelle finishes with a clap like a gunshot. "Get your butts movin'! I want outlines in by the end of the day!"
A portion of the team rushes for the door, eager to get started. They get caught up in a bottleneck and stay there, bouncing opinions back and forth. Kurt hangs back, packing his bag with painstaking slowness, his eyes dancing up every so often to see if Blaine has left yet.
He hasn't. He's doing the same as Kurt, sliding paperwork into folders one at a time, keeping pace with Kurt until he gets up from his chair and heads for the door. Once the way is clear, Kurt walks toward it. Blaine follows. When he reaches Kurt, he brushes his hand against Kurt's palm to see if he'll take it.
And he does.
Blaine bites his lower lip, locking a potentially tacky crow of victory inside his cheeks. He takes off to the right, rushing down the hall towards his office with Kurt in tow. No one bats an eye as the two take off at a faster than normal walk seeing as everyone's competing to submit their outlines first.
But all thoughts of outlines have disappeared for Kurt and Blaine.
Blaine pulls Kurt into his office and locks the door. Safe and secluded, Blaine looks at Kurt, breathless and red-faced, waiting for Blaine's next move.
"Uh …" Blaine starts, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "Can I …?"
"Kiss me?" Kurt drops his bag on the floor. "I thought you'd never ask."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a yes."
Blaine rushes Kurt and claims his mouth. On the off chance he changes his mind immediately after, Blaine will have this one kiss. When Kurt doesn't object, Blaine kisses him deeper, harder, leading him back a few steps until he has him up against the wall.
"God, Blaine!" Kurt moans as Blaine presses against him. "I had no idea you felt like this!"
"That's funny. I didn't think I was all that subtle," Blaine says, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it across the room.
"Well, we work in fashion …" Kurt surrenders his own jacket, smiling as Blaine lays it carefully over the back of a nearby chair. "Everyone here's a little flirty. I didn't want to assume. I've been waiting for you to tell me point blank whether you liked me or not. I just … I never dreamed you would be so forward."
I'm forward? Blaine thinks with a chuckle. "I couldn't help myself," he murmurs, undoing the top buttons of Kurt's shirt to get at the hollow of his neck, and that creamy, flawless skin that's haunted his daydreams through countless design meetings. "After I read your note …"
Kurt giggles when Blaine's lips brush his skin. "Really? My note turned you on?"
"Of course, it did! The language you used … it was so dirty … and raw! It's not every day a gorgeous man tells me he's thinking about my cock."
Kurt giggles again, but it's not as playful. He sounds confused, his body going rigid against Blaine's, and not in a good way. "That's … that's not what it said."
Blaine's kisses falter, but he doesn't stop. He can't. He's dreamt of being in this position for so long. "Yes, it did."
"No, it didn't."
"Then what … what did it say?"
"It said, Thinking about a clock. As in, for the symbol. You know, because clocks represent time and diamonds are timeless."
"Oh," Blaine mutters, slowly backing off. "Oh, Kurt. I'm so … I'm so sorry, I misunderstood …"
"You didn't misunderstand anything," Kurt insists, sliding a hand down the front of Blaine's slacks. He finds him hard and gives him a gentle squeeze that makes Blaine weak at the knees. "You just can't read my handwriting."