I own nothing. Not even a Warblers tie. I didn't even know they made those, and now I want one.
Like really, really badly. Enjoy~!
"Just a dime," the countertenor begins, "that's all you need." He looks back at the devishly sexy curls and adds, "That's all you're allowed."
The deep chuckle he receives as a response makes him laugh.
Kurt isn't sure if Blaine Anderson has never owned a dime before, because frankly, it looks as though he's placed a dollop the size of a dollar bill in there.
Kurt frowns at the volume of hair, as though glaring at the gel could somehow make it evaporate.
Little did he know, all he was accomplishing was the task of making Blaine melt.
Blaine Anderson finds a comb on his desk.
It has a neon pink post-it attached and written in unmistakable, loopy silver writing is, "This is a magic comb. It helps make a little gel go a long way." He can't help but wonder how anyone can be so adorable.
That day, Blaine Anderson uses just a little less gel than usual.
Kurt Hummel introduces his boyfriend to hair serum. "You don't have to gel it all the time. Serum is much lighter, so you won't destroy your curls."
Blaine points out that this defeats the purpose and Kurt storms out of the room, only to return with a serum in his hands. He places the bottle in Blaine's palms, and storms out yet again.
That night Blaine wonders if Kurt's been around Rachel too long.
The next day, he wonders if Kurt notices the slight springs in his hair.
Regionals arrive and it's as though Blaine's rediscovered hair gel.
A permanent scowl rests on Kurt's lips, which don't meet Blaine's often enough anymore.
The countertenor leaves a coin by Blaine's nightstand, writing on a napkin, "This is a dime, actual size for the convenience of people who use it to measure how much hair gel ought to be used on curls."
The gel isn't as obvious now, but the frown still seems to stay.
The sweet soprano voice lures Blaine to the washroom. "Sit," the siren sings, and he obeys.
The soft gentle hands rinse gel out of his, although the victim doesn't realize he's been captured until classes have already begun and someone comments on his luxurious curls.
Across the room, the siren smiles.
The gel, lure, and wash routine becomes as quotidien as Kurt's moisturizing routine.
It gets to the point where Blaine no longer minds the curls, and there really isn't any point in gelling his hair.
But for some unknown reason, the dollar bill lump of gel always finds its way to Blaine's locks. "Why do you keep gelling your hair, when you know I'm just going to rinse it out?"
Ah, the siren is wise as well as beautiful.
And that's when Blaine realizes his siren's been singing all along.
Just a dime.
Serum.
Actual size.
Sit.
Yes his siren has had him trapped for quite a while now.
And honestly, he enjoys his siren's chains and calls; he enjoys the slender fingers massaging his scalp.
And that's why he loves hair gel.
Thanks for reading you guys, I just needed to write a little fluff to ease the dreams tonight.
My "Rich Boys" hasn't been doing well recently, aka my muse quit and decided to leave me to fend for myself. I'm thinking about whether I should just rewrite the chapters, or trash the whole thing.
And now, to coerce you to review, I offer Darren Criss. Well not really, I offer you a link to a photo of Darren Criss you've probably already seen but will (maybe?) make you smile anyways. Simply because. Oh and I offer a random paragraph from my next oneshot, "Of Blazers and Peacoats" which is halfway done with a fifty percent chance that I rewrite it.
Thanks again and please leave your love for this story, it truly makes my day!