Just the boys having some quiet time together. No plot, no (sense, rating) big idea. Could be set at almost any time after they've become friends, but most likely between eps 12 and 16. I don't even really know why I wrote this. But I felt good writing it, and now I enjoy reading it.
Don't own Glee (or else I'd have better things to do).
The phone began blinking fiercely, indicating an incoming call. Vibrating against the smooth surface of the table, it started to move slowly. The gadget vibrated its way past a curly head, resting on crossed arms, fast asleep, to the edge of the table and over it.
The sound of phone hitting floor caused the curly head to jerk up, eyes wide open but still half-filled with reflections of dreams. The boy looked about him, cursed under his breath at the sight of his cell on the floor and leaned over to pick it up. Right at the moment when he grabbed the small apparatus, it gave out another short vibration, signaling the arrival of a text. "Flat tire, two blocks away, PREPARE ALL THE TOWELS YOU CAN FIND NOW!" Sent by: Kurt H. Blaine shot a glance at the windows and frowned: outside it was raining cats, dogs and other small critters. Blaine jumped up and rushed out of the dining room, where he'd been dozing off. With a pit-stop in the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove, he ran upstairs, aiming for the linen and towel closet.
He was holding six large towels and contemplating whether to throw in a couple smaller ones, when the doorbell rang. Blaine slammed the drawer shut and hurried to the door, to let in one thoroughly soaked Kurt Hummel. Looking as miserable as he was wet, Kurt snatched one towel, threw it over his head and snapped "Turn around NOW" so fiercely, that Blaine obeyed without thinking.
"Hi, Kurt. I'm happy to see you, too," – Blaine couldn't help the irony in his voice, as he greeted his friend with his back still to him.
"Wish I could say the same, but at the moment I'm not at all happy. And I don't really see you, in fact." – replied a muffled voice from behind. Kurt was clearly upset. "For the first time in four years I forget the umbrella and half the world's water supply pours down on me. Whatever mysterious force controls the weather, it's got a thing for Hugo."
"Four years? You actually count the times you get caught in the rain without an umbrella?" – Blaine tried hard not to show how much he was amused.
"Four years and two months… and maybe another week or so. It was one of the best sweaters I've ever had. I still have dreams about it sometimes-" the end of this bizarre confession sounded suspiciously like a sob. Blaine silently called himself an idiot.
"I'm gonna go and make some tea with lemon and ginger. Here are more towels if you need-" and he retreated into the kitchen. Kurt joined him shortly: one towel mounted like a turban on his head, another two wrapped around his body, not letting a square inch of his ruined outfit to be seen. He looked deeply depressed – this was a rare occasion when he was the one visiting Blaine, and he dressed to impress, and now his plan was destroyed. It didn't comfort him that Blaine himself was wearing faded jeans and a Batman t-shirt – that was beside the point.
"Might I offer you to change? My wardrobe is at your disposal. Nothing fancy, but it's all dry, I guarantee that." – Blaine couldn't stand that morbid expression any longer. Kurt considered the proposition, the faintest shade of pink touching his cheeks.
"I honestly can't but agree. Unless we decide to throw an impromptu Mummy Returns theme party". Blaine laughed and agreed that they'd best save that idea for next time. They went up to his bedroom and he showed Kurt where his 'housewear' was.
"I'll make sure that our tea doesn't get cold. Put the wet stuff in the bathroom. Call me if you need help. I mean, not like help with dressing or un… I mean!" Blaine's jaw dropped at what he'd just blurted out. Kurt seemed to have missed it entirely, studying the contents of the drawers with increasing curiosity. Lost in thought, he put the towels aside and began to unbutton his wet and wrinkled jacket. Blaine spun around to leave and tripped over a chair, almost dropping it and himself. When he drew himself back upward, he nearly gasped. Was it stupid of him to forget, where the mirrors were located in his own room? Maybe. But what can you do when there's a mirror and there's a reflection of one undressing Kurt Hummel in it? Right. Stare. Which Blaine did, forgetting to close his still wide-open mouth. Between two skipped heartbeats he scanned the reflection: the pale skin; the slim shoulders; the sharp shoulder blades visible through the thin fabric of Kurt's tank top; the tiny dark mole on the back of his neck, just below the hairline… He stared at the mole a bit longer. I want to touch there. The thought crossed Blaine's mind, fleeting and fluttering, like a butterfly, swift and bright. As he was wondering whether he'd prefer to touch with fingertips or lips, it finally dawned on Blaine, what exactly he was doing. He shot out of the room like a cork out of a bottle, trying not to draw Kurt's attention, ears and cheeks ablaze.
While Kurt was changing, Blaine had the time to make new tea, watch it go cold, circle the kitchen four times, call himself a perverted moron nine times, make tea again and finally occupy himself with picking out some DVDs for them to watch.
"Please, not the director's cut of the Lord of the Rings again," – a sudden voice made Blaine drop the DVD box and look up at Kurt, who'd just entered the living room. Even fully clothed (in HIS, Blaine's clothes!) Kurt managed to take Blaine's breath away: he chose to wear simple black sweatpants, a white tee and an unzipped gray hoodie, and tried to shape his messed up, still moist hair like it was intended to be moist and messy – even in all that Kurt looked like he was going to do a housewear photoshoot. Blaine forced himself to sound relaxed and casual. "Fine by me. How about pizza delivery and some old Broadway?" Kurt smiled warmly. "I'm always up for some old Broadway". As Blaine went to look for his phone, Kurt dropped onto the couch, stretched out his legs and scratched his nose. Blaine almost squeaked at how adorable Kurt was when, very rarely, he let himself loose and behaved like the slightly dorky teenager Kurt, not the classy well-bred diva Kurt. Tonight their regular "Broadway sing-along" promised to be a fun one. By a sudden twist of memory an image of two pale, smooth, marble-like shoulder blades flashed across Blaine's mind. Oooh yes, a fun one indeed.