Sometimes you just need to write some really stupid Klaine fluff, you guys.
Okay, push off the arm of the couch...balance...reach for the dining table...
"Kurt?"
"Ack!" Kurt overbalanced in surprise and nearly fell flat on his face in the kitchen before Blaine's strong arms hoisted him upright again.
"What are you doing?" Blaine asked, pulling out a chair and shoving Kurt into it as gently as possible. "Where are your crutches?"
"I left them propped against the armchair," Kurt said, waving dismissively. "I just wanted a glass of water, I didn't think I'd need them to get from the couch to the sink."
"Babe, the doctor said you need them for another week yet before you can try putting any weight on your ankle," Blaine said. "Do you want Suze to kill you for not letting it heal properly?"
Kurt winced at the thought of his director tearing him a new one just weeks before his show was supposed to open. "Alright, alright, I get it. Use the stupid crutches and try not to trip down any more subway stairs."
"That's all I'm asking for," Blaine teased, crossing over to the sink and filling a glass for Kurt, who took it gratefully. "Or else I'm gonna have to take drastic measures."
"Oh? And what would those be?" Kurt asked, eyes flashing with mischief.
"Let's just say I have friends in high places," Blaine demurred. "And if you keep trying to hop around the apartment instead of using your crutches, you'll see what I mean."
"Well now I'm intrigued," Kurt said. He pushed off the table onto his good leg, starting to hop back over to the couch until Blaine's arms snagged him around the waist.
"Alright, now you've done it," he said playfully, shifting his grip so he could knock Kurt's legs out from under him and lift him in his arms, making Kurt shriek. "No more walking for you, Hummel." He set a flailing Kurt on the kitchen counter, pushing their Keurig aside to make room.
"Blaaaaine! What's this for?" Kurt whined, confused. "I can't get down from here without hurting my ankle even more, it's too high."
"Exactly," Blaine said, looking smug. "Now you're my friend in a high place."
"You did not fucking make a pun about what you were going to do to me. I should dump you for this, oh my God," Kurt fumed.
"Hey, I'm just trying to help you heal," Blaine said, stepping in between Kurt's legs. "And I suppose I was a little off – you're so much more than just my friend."
"You're about to be so much less to me if you don't get me off this cou – oooh," Kurt moaned, losing track of his diatribe as Blaine started pressing light little kisses to his neck. "You're not fighting fair, Anderson!"
"All's fair in love and war, baby," Blaine said, smirking. "Think you can sit tight while I get dinner ready?"
"Do I have another option?"
"No, not really," Blaine said, pretending to think about it. "But I do have a very special dessert in mind to make up for your troubles."
"I suppose I can find a way to occupy myself until then," Kurt sighed. "Maybe I'll practice my bird calls."
"Oh my God."
"Blaine?" Kurt asked later that night, just as they were falling asleep.
"Mmm?"
"I think you should put me on bed rest tomorrow, if you know what I mean."
"I could probably be persuaded. Now shhhhh, sleep is healing."
"I don't think sleep heals – oh, you're asleep. Good night, B." Kurt lifted Blaine's hand up to his mouth for a kiss before succumbing to sleep himself.