REAPER:WHOA, YO. Dude, I was not expecting to post this story up, leave for work, and then come back to 4 reviews and a WHOLE lot of FAVS and ALERTS. Dudes, you made my night~! Seriously. I was not expecting that when I got home from work. Not at all. DUDE. I love you guys. So, I has a Tumblr (what the fuck does this have to do with anything?) and I was wondering if any of you'd be curious in seeing the picture that gave birth to this fanfic. As mentioned int he first chapter, this whole story was born from a picture I drew of a little toy Blaine being held by Kurt's hand. Yeah. YEAH. YEAH. Anyways, so if you guys want, I could post the pic on Tumblr or DeviantArt. If you guys are interested, I wouldn't mind giving you my url. (I AM SUCH A ATTENTION SLUT. WTF IS THIS?)
Warnings: Klaine (one-sided at the moment), homosexual references, mentions of bullying, uses of insulting words, OOCness (out-of-character-ness), and just plain warning. It's Glee. It's a warning itself. : D
So without further ado, CHAPTER 2~!
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Kurt giggled as he held Blaine, climbing the stairs to the metal slid of their neighborhood park. Elizabeth sat on a near-by bench, watching her boy with intense eyes. She knew how fragile her child could get, especially when in the hot sun.
"We're going to go down the slid, okay mom?" Kurt chirped to his mother, Blaine tucked safely in the boy's lap. Elizabeth nodded, smiling sweetly two the two as she held up a camera, recording the whole thing.
"Ready Blaine?" Kurt asked, looking down at his toy.
Ready when you are, Blaine thought, feeling the wind tousle his curly yarn as they descended. His fluffy expanded as he heard Kurt burst into childish giggles, the boy's arms wrapping tightly around his plush middle. Blaine would have allowed his threaded mouth to stretch if he could – only if he could.
"Want to go again?" Kurt asked, already moving to climb back up the slid.
As long as you laugh. Always as long as you laugh.
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Having been made by a loving couple a few years before Kurt was born (Blaine suspected when Elizabeth and Burt were first meeting, if Kurt's age was anything to go by) Blaine knew a lot for a doll. He knew Italian (the old couple were from Italy), he knew and could read music sheets (only when placed in front of him), knew how to play the guitar (watching the grandchild of the couple playing), and he knew how to see when someone was upset. Having the inability to move, Blaine had developed the talent of seeing behind facades people wore.
Like now.
Kurt was sitting at his vanity desk, doing his daily ritual of facial perfecting. He was humming a Broadway song under his breath, his eyes trailing to Blaine every once in a while. But had come down a few moments ago to announce they were going to dinner and, feeling childish, Kurt had asked if Blaine could go.
Burt had given his 16 year old son a funny glance but, seeing how soft he had spoken, agreed without questioning. Kurt used Blaine as a safety blanket more than anything and if he needed Blaine while out in public…well; someone was going to have to talk.
But, back to the point – Kurt looked fine now, humming to himself and letting a small smile stretch across his face, but Blaine knew.
Blaine knew.
He could see Kurt's eyes reflecting from the mirror. They were a murky blue – not the usual ocean blue. They looked to be two orbs of midnight sky curled around two black holes, not two sparkling diamonds of fresh beginnings.
Blaine wished he could move.
Kurt turned to face Blaine, moving up from his seat at his vanity. He gingerly picked up the plushie and pecked him on the forehead. Blaine's stuffing expanded.
"Ready to have dinner with Finn and Carole?" Kurt asked, moving to head to the stairs. If Blaine could, he'd scowl. He'd scowl and throw a tantrum like a five year old.
No, the toy thought bitterly, flashes of Finn screaming at Kurt invading his stuffed mind, no I am not. Oh, all I'd do if I could touch Finn…. He quickly banished the quickly turning violent thoughts, instead focusing on how Kurt's fingers were absently kneading into his body like a cat.
He rather liked the touch.
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Dinner was awkward.
Blaine, sitting on the table facing the Hudson couple, couldn't help but wonder why they always ate at the Breadstix. Why not somewhere else?
Was not place better?
The table surface left him as Finn picked him up, his brown eyes blinking in curiosity. Blaine heard Kurt draw a sharp intake of breath.
What was Burt doing, letting Finn grab him? Did the man forget Kurt was extremely possessive and protective of him?
"What's this?" Finn asked, turning Blaine in his hands to look him over, Kurt stared, his eyes wide and his hands gripping the table top. He flashed a look to the parents, who were watching the exchange silently. Burt and Finn had been on bad terms after the whole 'Fag' issue that had gone on a little bit before. Though after Burt found out about Finn sticking up for Kurt during 'Gaga' week, he was slowly being written back into the father's Good Book.
Kurt felt like a helplessly shy child, his eyes never leaving Blaine's form as he was poked and tugged on. He gave a soft, almost mute, whimper and held a single hand out. Finn met his eyes and, after a brief moment to stare at him, handed Blaine back.
"This…" Kurt trailed off, wondering why he was acting like a complete and total child, "is Blaine. My mother gave him to me when I was 6." Finn automatically apologized, realizing that he had just touched something that was extremely sacred. When it came to Kurt's mother, it was better to only graze the subject before switching the conversation.
"So, how 'bout them Red Sox?" Finn asked awkwardly, blushing into his soda when Kurt gave a very loud, snappy snort.
"Oh yes, smooth switch," Kurt dryly spoke, a smirk pulling onto his lips as Finn flashed him a smile. Blaine, now being rubbing by Kurt's thumbs, couldn't help but feel his seams bristle at the thought of Finn getting chummy with his Kurt. The teen was still at the bottom of his 'NO-SECOND-CHANCES' list, and wasn't moving up any time soon. The boy was still ignorant to Kurt's bullying, thinking girls and popularity was more important than his possible step-brother.
He was not getting any good graces from Blaine anytime soon.
Never, he later considered when he saw Finn teasingly flick Kurt on the forehead for making a comment about Rachael.
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"It was amazing," Kurt gushed out as he hugged Blaine to his chest, laying on his back on his bed. He was staring at the ceiling, talking to his beloved stuffed toy. It was a sort of nightly ritual. When he didn't cry himself to sleep with Blaine glued to his chest, he was talking about the latest drama and gossip with Blaine glued to his chest.
Call it childish and crazy, but he actually felt as if Blaine understood him. It would be great if he actually could, because then it'd make Kurt feel a little more comfortable, knowing that the doll was giving his fullest attention to the boy.
If only he knew.
Blaine listened as his angel rambled on about scarves and the latest issue of Vogue, snuggled perfectly in the boy's arms. Did he ever mention how perfect he shaped into the boy's arms? It was like he was modeled and crafted to fit into each dip and crook of the boy's flawless skin.
Seriously.
Continue talking, Blaine hummed to himself, his buttons glimmering in the lights of the room, talk and let your words sing for me.
Kurt soon fell silent, his eyes falling halfway. He turned onto his side, drawing Blaine up to his face. He cuddled into Blaine's face, breathing in the faint smell of his mother's perfume. It was barely there, but he could still smell it; along with the sweet scent of roses and vanilla, a distant mixture of spices and earth bled from the doll's fabrics and thread. It lulled Kurt to sleep, though before he was fully dragged into the tendrils of unconsciousness, he landed a quick peck to Blaine's lips.
Smothered against Kurt's face, Blaine swore his seams would snap from how much his stuffing was expanding. If he had a heart, it'd burst. It'd explode like a balloon – like the old cartoons he remembered watching.
It was rare that Kurt ever kissed Blaine anymore. Blaine suspected it was because he was older and kissing your toys was considered a child's thing to do. Blaine's stuffing soon settled back into place when flashes of watching his angel and that blond girl locking lips pasted his button-eyes.
He'd be damned if he allowed anyone else to kiss his Kurt.
He'd be damned.
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Reaper: Sorry for the story being short. I'm kinda trying to build it up. As of right now, I am writing this from the end of season 1. So yeah, a little ways to go. Nothing to bad though~ 3