author's notes: Written for seblaineaffairs' Seblainiversary, prompt: Nine. Nine 100-word drabbles.
tags: domestic fluff, domestic bliss, fluff, established relationship, boyfriends
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We Painted Little Pictures
or, 9 Alternative Boyfriend Uses
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The little things? The little moments?—
They aren't little.
—John Zabat-Zin
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"We need to go sweater shopping."
Book lowered to his chest, Sebastian eyes him over the store-bought half moon glasses that age him fifty years. "What's wrong with the one you're wearing?"
"I bought this for you to wear."
"And yet—" Sebastian gestures, eyes ticking along the maroon shawl collar Blaine claimed no two weeks ago looked divine on him.
Blaine's cheeks flush hot, and he sinks a little deeper into the couch. "It smells like you."
Laughing, Sebastian sits up and nestles in between his boyfriend's legs. "I smell like me," he whispers, and Blaine giggles to his lips.
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"Blaine, where are those rubber things you bought?"
Sebastian slams the kitchen drawer shut, scrutinizing a fresh jar of peanut butter.
"Condoms are in the bedroom."
"Ha ha." He rolls his eyes. "The jar grips."
Blaine twirls into their disorganized kitchen and grabs the jar, hitting the bottom once, twice, before the lid comes off.
Sebastian huffs a laugh. Not all too long ago his pride might've puffed I loosened that for you, and he stifles the What strong hands you have now knowing they can't be late.
So he settles for planting a kiss on top of Blaine's head.
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"Blaine!" Sebastian retreats to the far side of the bed, "put on some socks!"
Blaine giggles, prodding ice-cold feet at his boyfriend's legs. "I don't like sleeping with socks."
"I wanted to do Santana's wedding commando. We all make sacrifices."
Blaine pouts. "I just have to get warmed up."
Sebastian sighs, "Alright, come here," and slides effortlessly to the center of the bed, awaiting Blaine with open arms. So he runs a little hotter than the average man—it's half the reason why he never wears the sweaters Blaine buys him; the other being that Blaine continually steals them for himself.
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Raised on his toes, Blaine strains his fingers to reach the shelves above the fridge.
As if summoned, Sebastian strolls into the kitchen and wordlessly grabs the box of cereal.
"Why do we even keep it there?" Blaine gripes, pouring milk into a bowl.
"We don't," Sebastian taunts, "It's your backstock."
Blaine huffs, reluctant to get into another discussion about how Netflix's Getting Organized had thrown their home life into disarray. Their kitchen has a system now and the only place for backstock just happened to be the highest shelf in their tiny kitchen.
But what are tall boyfriends for?
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"Artie recommended a good ophthalmologist," Blaine offers, catching his boyfriend squinting at another food label.
"I don't need glasses." Sebastian rolls his eyes, promptly reaching for the specs propped in his hair.
"Sebastian, you're twenty-four! You should not be—" Blaine looks around, voice lowering, "—taking out your glasses to read the fine print."
"Blaine Anderson." Sebastian tilts his head. "Am I embarrassing you?"
Blaine rolls his shoulders, "You're embarrassing yourself," before storming off down the dairy aisle.
"Honey?"
"What?" Blaine snaps, turning on his heel.
Sebastian holds up a box of brownies. "Be a dear and read this for me?"
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"Drink this."
"Dun wanna," Blaine slurs, but gulps down the offered glass of water. "I'm putting this in my vows," he adds, burps, and falls back onto the bed halfway undressed.
"Can't hold his liquor?" Sebastian frowns, peeling off Blaine's socks and shoes.
"No." Blaine swats at his arm. "You take care of me."
"Well, I do try," Sebastian says, a smile curling around his lips.
"And you're a good pillow," Blaine muses as he settles in behind him, raking fingers through his hair.
Sebastian kisses Blaine's temple. "Don't think I didn't notice you proposing."
A snore sounds in response.
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"Why is the bathroom door locked?" Blaine asks, surprised when he tries the door handle.
No answer follows, Sebastian too preoccupied rifling through his desk.
Maybe he'll make that his next Home Edit project.
Musing on color-coordinated file folders and storage boxes, movement catches in the corner of his eye.
The reason the door was locked; a big daddy long-legs in the bathtub.
Blaine laughs and ushers the spider out of the bathroom window, though he'd never tell Sebastian—between them there's an unspoken agreement that Sebastian takes care of the cockroaches, while he kills spiders that dare invade the apartment.
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Sebastian groans. "I think I'm dying."
"You have a cold." Blaine chuckles, pressing a cold compress to Sebastian's forehead. "You'll live."
With a whine Sebastian turns on his side, jostling the mountain of used tissues on the bed.
"I want you to promise me you'll never love another man like you love me," Sebastian says nasally, voice hoarse from coughing.
Blaine smiles. "Cross my heart."
Eyes closing, Sebastian moans and turns onto his back again.
"Too bad you're not always like this," Blaine whispers.
"I heard that," Sebastian mutters.
Blaine laughs and kisses Sebastian's forehead. "I'll make you some soup."
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"So, I was thinking..."
Blaine straddles him on the couch, wearing nothing but his boxers and a Dalton sweatshirt conspicuously big around the shoulders.
"Is that my—"
"Yes." Blaine smiles, unable to hide the glint of mischief in his eyes. "We should go shopping this weekend."
That's right. Winter sales are coming.
Hands squeezing tight around Blaine's hips, his boyfriend squirms deliciously on top of him. Sebastian smiles. "And you only have the two arms."
Blaine leans in, brushing his lips against his. "I need new clothes, Bas," he whispers, and kisses him once, twice, dizzyingly deep—"Winter is coming."
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fin
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