Ctrl-A-Delete, a Glee fiction
I do not own Glee. Happy Lost Sock Memorial Day to my reviewers!
Dear Blaine,
You are under arrest for being undeniably attractive. Or at least you should be, because the things you were doing to me earlier felt too good to be legal. If I had a pair of handcuffs, I'd use them. Now don't fret, I wouldn't handcuff you to yourself. Maybe to myself, so I'd have an excuse to be constantly with you, but not to yourself. How could you run your hands through my hair if you were bound like that? Not very efficiently, that's for sure.
I'd have to bend down behind you. Then I'd be eyelevel with your butt. And while it is admittedly attractive, Kurt Hummel is not a butt kisser.
Also, orange is not your color. That jumpsuit would do nothing for you. The only time I'd get to see you, you'd be dressed in something tacky. No thank you. Let's thank the lucky stars that there is no law against your attractiveness.
I'm hoping Finn isn't a mind reader, because right now he's grinning at me like a wild cockatoo. Stupid bird smile. What is up with him?
Oh. You did this. This thing on my neck. Again? Really Blaine, I thought we agreed on this.
Only under the collar Pookie.
Ctrl-A-Delete
Dear Blaine,
As a favor to Carole, I'm watching the Flintstone movie with Finn. I wanted to get out of it, but I already finished all of my homework. So here I am, spending my Monday night, watching John Goodman get seduced by Cliff's secretary. Some things should just be left as cartoons.
It's only seven o'clock, but I'm already in my pajamas. I figure I might as well get comfortable. Besides, I put my uniform in the wash. I swear, if I wore that thing to school tomorrow, Wes and David would be all over me like two bloodhounds. It probably reeks of lust. Not that the mark on my neck isn't a dead give away. It's more like an alive give away, flashing bright against my pale skin.
At first when Finn asked, make that begged, me to watch the movie I said no. You'll never guess what he said to try to convince me.
"But Kurt, they have a gay old time!"
Cue the face-palming.
As calmly as I possibly could, I explained the difference between Flintstone gay, i.e. very happy, and Kurt gay, i.e. in love with Blaine. Don't worry, I didn't share any of the details.
I could never live back in the stone age. First off, that fashion? It's a yabba dabba don't. (I'm terribly sorry that this movie has put me in a mood for bad humor.) I can pull off the dress no problem. But that hair is horrible. And what kind of man goes around shoeless? The bottoms of their feet must be deplorable.
The only advantage I could see is living up to the name of the town.
Master Anderson, I can make your Bedrock.
Ctrl-A-Delete
Dear Blaine,
On the way home from your house I witnessed something horrible. There was a car parked on the side of the road, with a gash in the windshield. The driver seemed to have minor injuries, but nothing that a few stitches couldn't fix. There was a car behind him in mint condition. That driver had gotten out and was on the phone next to the injured driver.
I slowly approached the scene to avoid hitting any part of the shattered windshield that might have hit the ground. That's when I saw it.
The driver had hit a deer.
Poor Bambi.
First Bambi's mother had to go and get shot, and now he gets hit with a car? What is with people and deer? I dabbed a few tears and kept driving.
I'm glad that driver wasn't you. I know they are perfectly fine, and it wasn't their fault, but it must be horrible being responsible for the death of someone else. Worse yet, they could've swerved to avoid the deer, crashed into a telephone pole that would've come crashing down and killed them.
I know you would've swerved. It's worst case scenario, but it could happen. If you crash in a car, you could be gone in an instant. Just because you wanted to call to say you'd be over in a minute. I know you're smarter than that.
But please, double pinky promise me that you will never do anything stupid behind the wheel of a car. Or any other kind of moving vehicle for that matter.
If Santana and Brit ever find you breaking a pinky promise you are toast.
Ctrl-A-Delete
Dear Blaine,
I've come to the conclusion that Pavarotti needs a girlfriend. Now you may think that I am ridiculous, but hear me out.
I understand that Pav is pure and perfect and can't just go warble with any bird. I'd be willing to conduct a search for the perfect birdie partner for him. Sure there's no online dating websites for birds, none that I know of anyway. I could take him to the park, still in his cage and see what, or more accurately, whom, he likes.
I have good reasoning behind my plan too. You see, last time you were over and we were studying in my room, I felt two eyes on me. And no, I am not referring to Finn's. It was long after he retreated to the kitchen. Instead, two little birdie eyes were staring a hole into my head as I watched you do your math homework. That was before we even got together. It was like he was trying to play match maker.
It's only fair that I return the favor. Do you really want him to be staring at us while we study things that aren't in text books? I'd rather not have a bird creep on me and my boyfriend thank you very much. If he had a girlfriend he could get his own mack on.
I suppose he could have a boyfriend. I'm not sure. Pav isn't gay, is he?
Regardless, we are finding that bird a soul mate. One that can come and go as he/she pleases.
Because I am not having two birds get their mack on while I'm trying to sleep.
New message from Blaine. Read.
Dear Blaine,
Madly in love? That makes two of us my dear.
Catching grenades for you,
Backspace
May the Great Gazoo be with you,
Backspace
You'll be my offbeat,
Kurt
(P.S. Can we be happily in love instead? I don't want to be mad at you.)