Touching people was not something Kurt Hummel was known for. At university he was known for his outlandish outfits and sharp, albeit a bit cruel tongue, but never his affection. He did not like to participate in group hugs or let his classmates touch him. Touch was, to Kurt, something sacred.
Blaine on the other hand, was over affectionate and clingy. He liked to hold Kurt's hand all the time, liked to cuddle with Kurt in the mornings and afternoons and late into the night because to Blaine, Kurt was a safe place and Blaine's anchor.
Blaine liked the simplicity of staying in late on a Sunday morning and letting his feet play with Kurt's under the blankets. Blaine found small gestures like the gentle touch of Kurt's hand on his cheek, neck, and hair the most important touches of all. He knew that Kurt invested so much in those movements; to Kurt they meant trust and openness and a new found sense of belonging. To Blaine it was just Kurt simply touching him. And that was all he needed.
Kurt liked the taste of Blaine the best. The thrill of tasting another person fascinated him and repulsed him slightly at the same time. The sensation of tasting Blaine, Kurt's tongue throbbing insistently as he ran it over Blaine's bottom lip was new and weird to Kurt. The way Blaine's coffee and lunch danced precariously over Kurt's own taste buds alighted a wanting within him.
Never did he think that he would be able to ever taste another boy like this. The heat and fire from their bodies as they shifted together was tangible and he could taste it on his tongue.
It was new to him. It scared Kurt. He had this other person so willingly at the service of his tongue. It made his head spin and his hands spasm.
It was something he didn't think he'd ever get used to. But tasting Blaine was really the best thing of all.
Blaine would spend his time when he was young watching his mother paint. He liked the grace in which she would do it, the gentle strokes of her brush striking the canvas and creating unfathomable things there. He was fascinated by her careful concentration, her long curly hair caught up in a bandana and streaks of paint adorning her arms.
She would try to teach Blaine how to paint, but no matter how hard she tried the simple fact was Blaine couldn't paint. He would screw up his awful drawings and sketches in disgust knowing that no matter how hard he tried and wished, he'd never be as good as his mother.
After that she tried to teach him colours in the hopes to educate him in art, and Blaine finally found something he was good at that wasn't singing. She spent every evening with him, the two of them poring over art books and tonal scales on slips of paper and gradually he only saw people in these brand new colours. His mother was a soft lilac or a desert sand. The ones who would taunt him at school were harsh toupe or onyx.
His father had argued with his Mom almost every night about Blaine. Apparently it was wrong for a thirteen year old boy to be so into art, to want to know about colours when he should be investing himself in more worthier things.
After that, Blaine only saw his father in the darkest greys and blacks.
He saw things in dull colours. He saw himself in only the darkest of tones and he felt ashamed of the colours in his world.
When he'd met Kurt his eyes had nearly exploded from the colour. The porcelain, creamy white of Kurt's skin, the fawn and russet shade of Kurt's hair and the vibrant, ever changing colours of Kurt's clothes. In contrast to what Blaine thought was his own dull olives and browns, Kurt was a kaleidoscope of colours.
And Kurt's eyes. Blaine couldn't name their colour—celestial blue? Cyan? Persian green?
When up close those eyes made him lightheaded and he could see nothing but their perfect blend of green and blue.
Kurt made Blaine see more vivid colours as time went on; Blaine's old school and Dalton had caused him to see the world in dreary sepia colours. Everything was monotone and washed out.
Then Kurt made him see the daring, vivacious reds and the bold purples and the dazzling greens. And so much blue.
Blaine saw the world in so many colours, but Kurt was the brightest colour of all.
Blaine liked the way Kurt smelt in the mornings. He liked the musk of Kurt's shampoo and Blaine's own smell mixed up in Kurt's messy morning hair. He liked Kurt after his shower, lotions and shower gel still clinging to Kurt's skin and making him smell like citrus and summer and cleanliness.
Kurt liked how Blaine smelt in the evenings, after Blaine came back from his classes and his jog. Blaine smelt sweaty and musky, the lingering scent of Blaine's coffee and Science classroom still there on Blaine's clothes. Kurt swore he knew the smell of Blaine's classrooms better than Blaine himself.
But best of all they liked the way their scents mingled and collided when they touched. When they were on fire, bodies hot and urgent, they liked the smell of each other. The smell of skin and heat would hang in the air and the thought of each other's own scent in the others pores fascinated them both.
Kurt was never one for being quiet. He preferred to be loud and brash. He expected to be heard no matter what and therefore he had to be loud.
However living with Blaine was his exception.
The simple act of getting up in the mornings and padding through their silent flat was all too new to Kurt. He woke up earlier than Blaine did, so he had the privilege to explore their flat on his own.
To Kurt, the silence around him was different to normal silence. This silence was comfortable and welcome. The barely audible purr of the pipes as he switched on the shower was inaudible to him. The low, familiar creak of the cupboards as he reached for his breakfast didn't even reach his ears. Sound was muted and dull but Kurt didn't mind.
The only sound he listened to was Blaine.
The quiet snuffle of Blaine's breathing, sometimes hitching when Blaine rolled over, or the quiet murmur of Blaine talking in his sleep. It comforted Kurt.
Kurt would eat and then ghost back to their room and stand in the doorway. He would close his eyes and be as quiet as possible and simply listen to Blaine. The sound of Blaine washed over him and lulled him into an easy, silent state.
Many mornings Blaine would wake to find Kurt had fallen asleep standing up, Kurt's slim frame leaning heavily against the doorway. Blaine would smile and gently lift Kurt into his arms and carry him back to bed. Their flat was still quiet. The silence of the day stretched on and for a few moments they were quiet together, breathing in sync and relishing every sense as they slowly awoke to explore a new day together.
A/N: So it seems I'm back to writing one-shots! The response to the end of Survival spurred me on so much that this happened. Thank you all so much again for your wonderful reviews and hits, it means so much to me. I hope you liked this, despite how pointless it was!